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THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



>> 



COMPLETE EDITION. 




BOSTON: 
TICKNOR AND FIELDS 

1867. 



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CONTENTS. 



iicks op thb Night. 

-elude 
I ! . t o t h c 

I 



.11 Mllllkllil 



I ' 



Earlier Poems. 

I i :! I >.»y ...... 

. 

W : : Winter . 

I I 

j 

Bin ink 

ique. 

■ 
I ..... 

I . I 

I 



i 



: \ ecp 

I 

tian . 



Land 

i . . 

i.l 
i 1 and the Ship 



PACE 

I 
2 
2 

3 
3 

4 
4 
5 
6 



7 
7 
8 

9 
9 



1 1 
17 
«7 

»7 

19 

20 
21 
21 
22 
22 
Z2 
23 
2.3 
23 



rs. 



oftWB«r. 

tlwta 



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2m. * 



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T«« 

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COX TEXTS. 



•ne 
toon ii 
i 

gel* 

Tlie Arrow .1 
Son 

ir . 

itumn 

Tr 

I r th 

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1 






PUNK. A I KOFAcADIB 

k Sbasidb a k Fireside. 

Dedi« • . 

By tiu Si \ ior. 

p 

I ■ i : 

1 1 umphrey Oilbcrt 

. 
. 1 4 

Till. I IKRSIDK, 

. 

•esert in a: 

. 

! 

in 

. 

1 Pound 

l .... 

met ...... 

ngera 

a . 

.iilc . 

tiristmas Carol .... 



oo 

9* 
93 



94 
95 



96 
9f 



i»3 



139 
144 



rs. 



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( V TEXTS. 



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merf* 
I ». irerer oft) ape 



:th I 






I or the Poet's Afterthought 

Talks of % W 

<le 

n ... 

I 

. 



it's 'I 



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I 

I 

! 



I. 

ii K 
in. Thora i 

1 

i 

vn I ird 



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v 1 1 1 . 

m. 

xm. 

XIV. 



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cnt 

it 



1 
A Little Hird in tl 
Quec talk 

XVII. k 

i K v.iM . 

•'■ t! I I . 

XX. I ... 

ik. 

N . . roe 

Interlu 

ile 



i lirds of Killingworth 
Finale 



286 



187 

309 
3'<> 

3'4 

3»7 

320 

320 

3-4 

324 
328 



T.l 



or pA«&Acr ! Qirr th« Skovd. 
TIm Ouldmi's Hour M 

The Cumberland . 
SMr-Fbl 



A I 
Someth.n, Icii 



Fm^tB-:m LOO, a*o oTnr« T 

■ . - - 

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•■ 



N T X •. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

1839. 



I I 71 in, M £, 

vn I'oSoret pa Tior tto.* i' ftporCoi-, 

■ ifioQiv I9i • p.6A< p.6\t KaTarrTtpo'! 
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6ioi\up.t#', oi\op.t9a. 

! KiriDi 



PRELUD 1 

asant it was, when woods v. 
ere soft and lo 
Where, the long ghs be- 

:.uk and sunlight sheen 

Or where tl ves 

1 

■h whose slo| es 

lli 

patriarch ll tree 
iv up m the ground ; 
His hoai u fted he, 

I K-.i\ es <>ver me 
little hands it) gl 
With one continuous sound ; — 

md thatbrings 
t .1 dream, 
As of innumerable winj 

when a bell no l< wings, 

it the hollow murmur rin 
< Vet meadow, lake, aud Stream. 

I dreams of that which cannot die, 
Bright visions came to me. 
As lapped in thought I used to lie, 

ize into the summer sky. 
Where the sailing clouds went by, 
Like ships upon the sea ; 

1 



UIM that the soul of youth cng 1 

iditlOUS of the saint and 

. ih it h.r e ih 

,d chroi id. 

: . loving still these guainl old themes, 

1 . 

ms, 

and sunny 

Water the 1 iecn land of dn 
The holy land ot 

Tli- 1 which brii 

The Spin bed like a bri 

When nestling buds untold their wings, 

I bishop's golden rili. 

Mu ling upon many thin] 

I . lit the woodlands wide. 

The iwhi ipered low and mild ; 

It tund of joy ! 

They were my playmates when a child, 
\ 1 rocked me in their arms so wild I 
Still th l( me and smiled, 

As if 1 .t boy ; 

And ever whispered, mild and low, 
oine. be a child once more !" 

1 their long arms lo and fro, 
And beckoned solemnly and slow ; 

O, I Could not choose DUt gO 
Into the woodiands hoar, — 

Into the blithe and breathing air, 

Into the solemn wood. 
Solemn and silent everywhere ! 



OF THE 



folded 

ooetnprarr 



. AS llttMM 

and •ombrtKn 



t and blue, 

loloogr 



Dram* 
At once opoa the f«^ f 

fWid to H 

•triacananHMJ: 
Thoa art m> inner a cbi 

K«w ' --- - 

« bending 



ih*n 



££ 



Ibe 



lt« ij 












turn r 

« heart, and 






AH fc*m« of o wu n and delight. 



oleaaa Voieeaofthe * 

n aooche ibe*. or affright. — 
M IBM* bencelur: h I 



in 

He trailing garment* of the 

*n the 

» « "-»-:, ; , r *cnce gj |&* 

■ne I lor« 
oond, 

old, m 

llaj f. -Ir l.4.,r.tr«l • . r ,0/ l!r 



>raakref»r< 

From tkoae deep cmteean rl 
•e I lean-* 

I rw*j ij r- ,j, r finger on it >« .. % of 



I he 









Uloeed N.g»u : 



A 






An 



] 



THE LICIfT OF STARS. 



Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 
.d the grave is il ; 

t thou art, to dust return 
W.i i i. t poken of th 

nd not - 

med cud <>r \\ 
I ict, th i 

rther than to-day. 

Art fleeting, 

And Mir he though stout and 

ive, 
Still, like muffled drums, are beating 

In the v i <>f battle, 

In the bi . i Life, 

in cattle ! 
m the 

•'er pleasant ! 
Let the d. 

• in the living I l ! 

lb irl within, am id ! 

i!l remind | 

\\ sublime, 

I inds of tunc ; — 

aits, th 

o'er lite's solemn main, 

eked bn >tl 
Sec nil take heart again. 

n, be up and doii 

e ; 
Still 

irn to labor and to w 



Mil RE \I'IR AND 1 HE 
1 I I >v. 

Tin a Reaper, whose name is 

Death, 
And, with his sickle keen, 
He n i] tin at a breath, 

And the flowers thai between. 

all I have naught that is fair?" 
th he ; 
" Have nam lit but the bearded grain? 
Though the breath of these flowers is 
eet to me, 
I will give them all back again." 



He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, 
He kissed their drooping leaves ; 
l of rarad 

He bound them in his .shea 
" Mv Lord has need of these flowerets 

Th aid, and smiled ; 

h are they, 
Where p child. 

!1 all bloom in fields of 1 
'. by my care, 

' - white, 
1 li r." 

the m< (1 pain, 

• did lo' 

hould find them ail a. 

In the Ik. 

O, not in cruelty, not in wra 

The that «! 

as an . irth, 

1 took the 



THE IT* .11 r OF STA1 

I'h ut not too soon ; 

I sitikii itly, 

silently, the lil 

I hnopt down behind th( 

is no light in earth or heaven 

1 the firs! watt hi I is given 

•he red planet 

! the tender star of love? 
'IT and dreams? 

o ! from that blue tent above, 

A 1 learns. 

And earnest thoughts within me rise, 

When I behold al 

Suspended in the evening skies, 
The shield of that red star. 

star of strength ! I see thee stand 

d smile upon my pain ; 
Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, 
And I am strong again. 

Within my breast there is no light 
But the cold light of stars ; 

1 give the first watch of the night 

the red planet Mars. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 



The star of the unconquered will, 

He rises in my breast, 
Serene, and resolute, and still, 

And calm, and self-possessed. 

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, 
That readest this brief psalm, 

As one by one thy hopes depart, 
Be resolute and calm. 

O fear not in a world like this, 
And thou shalt know erelong, 

Know how sublime a thing it is 
To suffer and be strong. 



FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. 

When the hours of Day are numbered, 
And the voices of the Night 

Wake the better soul, that slumbered, 
To a holy, calm delight ; 

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, 
And, like phantoms grim and tall, 

Shadows from the fitful fire-light 
Dance upon the parlor wall ; 

Then the forms of the departed 

Enter at the open door ; 
The beloved, the true-hearted, 

Come to visit me once more ; 

He, the young and strong, who cher- 
ished 

Noble longings for the strife, 
By the roadside fell and perished, 

Weary with the march of life ! 

They, the holy ones and weakly, 
Who the cross of suffering bore, 

Folded their pale hands so meekly, 
Spake with us on earth no more ! 

And with them the Being Beauteous, 
Who unto my youth was given, 

More than all things else to love me, 
And is now a saint in heaven. 

With a slow and noiseless footstep 
Comes that messenger divine, 

Takes the vacant chair beside me, 
Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

And she sits and gazes at me 

With those deep and tender eyes, 

Like the stars, so still and saint-like, 
Looking downward from the skies. 



Uttered not, yet comprehended, 
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, 

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, 
Breathing from her lips of air. 

O, though oft depressed and lonely, 
All my fears are laid aside, 

If I but remember only 

Such as these have lived and died ! 



FLOWERS. 

Spake full well, in language quaint and 
olden, 
One who dwelleth by the castled 
Rhine, 
When he called the flowers, so blue and 
golden, 
Stars, that in earth's firmament do 
shine. 

Stars they are, wherein we read our his- 
tory, 
As astrologers and seers of eld ; 
Yet not wrapped about with awful mys- 
tery, 
Like the burning stars, which they 
beheld. 

Wondrous truths, and manifold as won- 
drous, 
God hath written in those stars above ; , 
But not less in the bright flowerets un- 
der us 
Stands the revelation of his love. 

Bright and glorious is that revelation, 
Written all over this great world of 
ours ; 
Making evident our own creation, 
In these stars of earth, these golden 
flowers. 

And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, 
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part 

Of the selfsame, universal being, 

Which is throbbing in his brain and 
heart. 

Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shin- 
ing, 
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, 
Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver 
lining, 
Buds that open only to decay ; 



THE BELEAGUl i !T\ 



Brilliant h :i in gorgi 

ti- 

Flaunting gayly in the golden light ; 

with most uncertain 

Ml 

Tender wishes, blossoming at night ! 

These in fl< id men are in. >re than 

w me 

eth in himself and in the flowei 

rywhere about us are they glov 
one like stars, to tell ua Spring 
born ; 
Others, their bine eyes with tears o'er- 
il owing, 
Stand like Ruth amid the golden 
rn ; 

And in Summer's green-emblazo; 
held, 
But in arms of brave old Autumn's m 

'• 
In the centre of his brazen shield ; 

alone in meadows and green all 
i the mountain-top, and by the 
brink 
sequestered pools in woodland val- 
le 
Where the slaves of nature stoop to 
drink ; 

Not alone in her vast dome of glory, 

bird and beast alone, 
But in old cathedrals, high and boa 

•mbs of h . . arved in 
dc ; 

In the c f the rudest peasant, 

In tral hornet, whose «. rumbling 

then, and in all so 
incl their light and soul- 

soi. 
akin they are to human thin 



I with childlike, credulous aflfa 
W e i >ld their tender bud 
I 

: the bright and better 
land. 



THE I'.KI.I \<. I I RED CITY, 

I have read, in some old, marvellous 
le, 

e and vague, 
'I'h. u a midnight I .le 

1 ied the walls of Pi 

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream, 
\\ ith the wan moon overhead, 

There Stood, as in an awful dream, 

I be army oi the dead. 

White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 
The -pec tral cam] 

. with a sorrowful, deep sound, 
The river flowed between. 

No other voice nor sound was there, 

N.» (hum, nor sentry's pac 
The mist-like banners clasped the air, 

As clouds with clouds embrace. 

But when the old cathedral i 

Proclaimed the morning r, 

The white pavilions rose and tell 

( )n the alarmed air. 

Down the broad valley fast and far 
The troubled army tied ; 

e the glorious morning star, 
.y host v. a 

I have read, in the marvel!. 1 t of 

man, 

:t strange and mystic scroll. 
That an army of phantom 

the human sold. 

>edbeside I .ife's iu thing stream, 

In *8 misty light 

\n\ 
Portentous through the night 

n its midnight battle- ground 

I, with a sorrowful, tnd, 

the River I 

other \ 
In the army l 

hallem he air. 

Hut tli. _ : 1 ive. 



I'OICES OF THI HT. 



And when the solemn and deep church- 
be 

the son! to pr 
inifjht phantoms feel the spell, 
e shadows » weep sway. 

Down the broad Vale of 1 can . 

al camp \% (led ; 
J 

r ghastly fear* are dc 



i 

! 



UK 



.1 • 



g, Ulhng, 
Solenv 

rooks are *^ l> ***f J 
i a sound of wot. 






•r l 



his poor soal. 



There hi 



\\\ 111 V,i 



■(I w it n 1* 

Like »rak. Jn oi ml I.« 
icing, a king i 



I 

. 
Lo% 

< and low. 

uh. 

irms it 1 
Klassv 



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■li'inrM. 



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• there nt. 

And the * 

.isle, e 



A UTUM.V. 



EARLIER POEMS. 

[These poems were written for the most part during my college life, and all of 
them before the age of nineteen. Some have found their way into schools, and 
seem to be successful. Others lead a vagabond and precarious existence in the 
cor I newspapers ; or have changed their names and run away to seek their 

fortunes beyond the sea. I say, with the Bishop of Avranches on a similar occa- 
n : " I cannot be displeased to see these children of mine, which I have neg- 
lected, and almost exposed, brought from their wanderings in lanes and alleys, 
and safely lodged, in order to go forth into the world together in a more decorous 
garb."] 



AN APRIL DAY. 

Win \r the warm sun, that brings 
Seed-time and harvest, has returned 

lin, 
'T is sweet to visit the still wood, where 
■ 
The fir r of the plain. 

I love the season well, 
When forest glad teeming with 

bright fon 

Nor dark and manv folded clouds fore- 
tell 
The coming-on of storms. 

From the earth's loosened mould 
The sapling draws ita sustenance, and 

tin 
Though stricken to the heart with win- 
ter's cold, 
The drooping tree revives. 

The softly-warbled song 
Comes from the pleasant woods, and 

colored wings 
Glance quick in the bright sun, that 
moves along 
The forest openings. 

When the bright sunset fills 
The silver woods with light, the green 

slope throws 
Its shadows in the hollows of the 
hills, 
And wide the upland glows. 

And when the eve is born, 
In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching 

far, 
Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her 
horn, 
And twinkles many a star. 



Inverted in the tide 
Stand the gray rocks, and trembling 

shadows throw, 
And the fair trees look over, side by 
side, 
And see themselves below. 

Su \ my a thought 

I wedded unto thee, as hearts are 
wkI ; 
; shall they fail, till, to its autumn 

brought, 
Life's golden fruit is shed. 



A U T U M N . 

With what a glory comes and goes 

the year ! 
The buds of spring, those beautiful har- 

bii • 

Of sunny skies and cloudless times, en- 

joy 
Life's newness, and earth's garniture 

spread out ; 
And when the silver habit of the clouds 
Comes down upon the autumn sun, and 

with 
A sober gladness the old year takes 

His bright inheritance of golden fruits, 
A pomp and pageant fill the splendid 
scene. 

There is a beautiful spirit breathing 

now 
Its mellow richness on the clustered 

trees, 
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, 
Pouring new glory on the autumn 

woods, 



light the pillared 



Mora op the 

Lifts op her purple 

The frolic wiod, a swe* 






txovh. and maple rellow- 

id\cd. 

Whfr \ i-umri. like a taint « >M man. 
|U the * n Miic a *tary 1 hn«igh the 



the hlu«hing leaf, and *t:r%ui r 

*« r r.sti w • *.» of a%h dcCj>- 



■ 

That.- Vmrandrrd cn\*r • 

Aw! p> tch haael, nhiUl 

MOBfl 

Frooi i 

Ar«l n . ■■ h Oi rri^atcd »tr» V r. 

Sound \ it-m the threshing-floor the 
bu«y Hail 

T1 «)>•> 



' t . K ht and 



On duties woll performed, and day* well 



Shall 1 clo- 

..Iniir. I 



- the ba 
rough the loof roach of desert 



And gladden thctc dee] 

I round the barren - ak. 

1 ; • * . . ':i!r. i ' \ r n t>eaut < una 

e cry*: hung. 

"i their tri»*en urn*, mute 
*pr»n^ 



i ,» 








d mo»>. 






\% ! 


Amiga 


: 




•ong; 


I hrar it in lh- 


1 * IIIC It 'IIJJ 


in m 






1 li. 


AT 









IN V 

read th- 
ic lonely \ 



i 

•mreei 

Song V », m il ■ il m. myattriom a . 
bannr 



THE S/'IA'/T OF POETRY 



When the clarion's music thrills 

• the hi >nc hi 

When the spear in conflict shak 

Andtl glance shivering breaks. 

ike thy banner ! and. beneath 

ie battle-doud . rcath, 

1 it, till our homes are 
ml it ! ( tod will prosper ill 

In the dark and trying hour, 

In : , -rtli of 

In the rush ol 

His right hand will shield thee th 

" I ike to ght 

ghastly fight, 

• air hoi 

(1 man 

ire him ! In- i hath lhai 

d.e thy banner ! and if < 
Thou --In ml«Kt pi 

hould 1 
id of mournful ii 

Martial i tiroud for I 

The warrior took that banner proud. 
And it was hismarti il ma shroud ! 



Till. HII ! 

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's 
wide arch 
i glorious with the sun's return 

inarch, 
And woods were brightened, and soft 

Went forth to kiss the sun-clad val« 
The clouds ir beneath me; bathed 

in light, 

I midwav round the wood- 

ry, shone 
I hrown, 

,u, with shifting 

Thr< mist thrust up its 

ice. 

And i the cliff was left 

Tin • blasted, bare, and cleft. 



The veil of cloud was lifted, and below 
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's 

flow 
Was darkened by the forest's shade, 
< >r glistened in the white cascade ; 
■\\ here upward, in the mellow blush of 

day. 
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral 

way. 

I heard the distant waters dash, 
I I whirl a 

. ric hly, by the blue i.i liver 

bea< 
The woods were bending with a silent 
U h. 

11, 
i of the village bell 

I weetly to the e< ho-givins hills ; 

And the wild horn, wl the 

woodland tills, 
Was ringing to the i hout, 

That taint and far the glen sent out, 

Where, answi i tdden shot, 

thin smok 
Through thick-leaved branches, from 

the dingle bn 

thou art worn and hard beset 
With thou wouldst for- 

If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will 

Thy h< in fainting and thy soul 

p, 
to the woods and hills ! \o te 
1 >i in the sweet look that Nature wears. 



M. SPIRIT OF POETRY. 

THBRB is a quiet spirit in these woods, 

That dwells where'er the gentle south- 
wind blows ; 

Where, underneath the white-thorn, in 
the glade, 

The wild-flowers bloom, or, kissing the 
it air, 

The leaves above their sunny palms 
outspread. 

With what a tender and impassioned 
voice 

It fills the nice and delicate ear of 
thought, 



IO 



EARLIER POEMS. 



When the fast ushering star of morning 

conies 
O'er-riding the gray hills with golden 

scarf; 
Or when the cowled and dusky-san- 
daled Eve, 

In mourning weeds, from out the west- 
ern gate., 

Departs with silent pace ! That spirit 
moves 

In the green valley, where the silver 
brook, 

From its full laver, pours the white cas- 
cade ; 

And, babbling .low amid the tangled 
woods, 

Slips down through moss-grown stones 
with endless laughter. 

And frequent, on the everlasting hills, 

Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap it- 
self 

In all the dark embroidery of the storm, 

And shouts the stern, strong wind. 
And here, amid 

The silent majesty of these deep 
woods, 

Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts 
from earth, 

As to the sunshine and the pure, bright 
air 

Their tops the green trees lift. Hence 
gifted bards 

Have ever loved the calm and quiet 
shades. 

For them there was an eloquent voice 
in all 

The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden 
sun, 

The flowers, the leaves, the river on its 
way, 

Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gen- 
tle winds, 

The swelling upland, where the side- 
long sun 

Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, 
goes, 

Groves, through whose broken roof the 
sky looks in, 

Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sun- 
ny vale, 

The distant lake, fountains, and mighty 
trees, 

In many a lazy syllable, repeating 

Their old poetic legends to the wind. 



And this is the sweet spirit, that doth 

fill 
The world ; and, in these wayward days 

of youth, 
My busy fancy oft embodies it, 
As a bright image of the light and beauty 
That dwell in nature ; of the heavenly 

forms 
We worship in our dreams, and the soft 

hues 
That stain the wild-bird's wing, and 

flush the clouds 
When the sun sets. Within her tender 

eye 
The heaven of April, with its changing 

light, 
And when it wears the blue of May, is 

hung, 
And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her 

hair 
Is like the summer tresses of the trees, 
When twilight makes them brown, and 

on her cheek 
Elushes the richness of an autumn sky, 
With ever-shifting beauty. Then her 

breath, 
It is so like the gentle air of Spring, 
As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it 

comes 
Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy 
To have it round us, and her silver voice 
Is the rich music of a summer bird, 
Heard in the still night, with its passion- 
ate cadence. 



BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. 

On sunny slope and beechen swell, 
The shadowed light of evening fell ; 
And, where the maple's leaf was brown, 
With soft and silent lapse came down, 
The glory, that the wood receives, 
At sunset, in its golden leaves. 

Far upward in the mellow light 
Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, 
Around a far uplifted cone, 
In the warm blush of evening shone ; 
An image of the silver lakes, 
By which the Indian's soul awakes. 

But soon a funeral hymn was heard 
Where the soft breath of evening stirred 



COPLAS DE MANRIQUE. 



1 1 



The tall, gray forest ; and a band 
-tern in heart, and strong in hand, 
ne winding down beside the \\>i. 

To lay the red chief in his 

They sang, that by his native bowers 
He stood, in the last moon of flowers, 
Ami thirty snows hail not vet shed 
Their glory on the warriors head ; 
But, as the summer fruit decays, 
So died he in those naked da 

A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin 
Covered the warrior, and within 
I heavy folds the weapons, made 
For the hard toils of war, were laid ; 
The cuirass, woven of plaited re< 
And the broad belt of shells and beads. 

Before, a dark-haired virgin train 
Chanted the death-dirge of the slain ; 



hind, the long procession came 

hoary men and chiefs of fame, 

With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief, 

Leading the war-horse of their chief. 

Stripped of his proud and martial 
dr< 
Uncurbed] unreined, and riderh 
With darting eye, and nostril spread, 
And heavy and impatient tread. 
He came ; and oft that eye SO proud 
Asked for his rider in the crowd. 

They buried the dark chief; they 
freed 
Beside the grave his battle steed t 
And swift an arrow cleaved its way 
To his stern heart ! One piercing neigh 
Arose, and, on the dead man's plain, 
The rider grasps his steed again. 



TRANSLATIONS. 



[Don Jorge Manrique, the author of the following poem, flourished in the last half 
of the fifteenth century. He followed the profession of arms, and died on the field 
of battle. Mariana, in his History of Spain, makes honorable mention of him, as 
beinq: present at the siege of Ucles ; and speaks of him as " a youth of estimable 
qualities, who in this war gave brilliant proofs of his valor. He died young ; and 
thus cut off from long exercising his great virtues, and exhibiting to the world 
the light of his genius, which was already known to fame." He was mortally 
wounded in a skirmish near Canavete, in the year 1479. 

The name of Rodrigo Manrique, the father of the poet, Conde de Paredes and 
Maestre de Santiago, is well known in Spanish history and song. He died in 1.; 
according to Mariana, in the town of I'cles ; but, according to the poem of his - 
in ( >cana. It was his death that called forth the poem upon which rests the literary 
reputation of the younger Manrique. In the language 01 his historian, " Don J< 
Manrique, in an elegant Ode, full of poetic beauties, rich embellishments of ■_ 
and high moral reflections, mourned the death of his father as with a funeral hymn." 
This praise is not exaggerated. The poem is a model in its kind. Its conce] 
is solemn and beautiful ; and, in accordance with it, the style moves on, — ca 
dignified, and majestic] 



COPLAS DE MANRIQUE. 

FROM THE SPANl 

O LET the soul her slumbers break, 
Let thought be quickened, and awake ; 
to see 
v soon this life is past and gone, 
And death comes softly stealing on, 
How silently ! 



iftly our pleasures glide away, 
( hir hearts recall the distant day 
With many sighs : 

moments that are speeding 
We heed not, but the past, — the past, 
More highly prize. 

Onward its course the present ke< D8, 
( reward the constant current bweeps, 
Till life is done ; 






TRA.VSLA 1 



And. did we jod|fr •■■•»• 

.!<! be mo: 






•Be fondly dream 
e and all ! 

! he dreamt of old. 



» • » » ^ 



we wa 

\ c\ mcvsen, 

I 

A d< 



mated, bouodlea 
v pocnp at 
M daiV. 

tie too • i 1'iidc 









uc ob e-ii ih. 






I m 



1 



rang 



*khi» dew. 









n earth our commoo lot. 



( | ' • <* . I , » * .|, 



( »'ir crA'llc •••••■' w r. 



inaiom of th 
t as we • 



i n 



1 we 



1 lie MP 'i; 



i 
! 



-k til. the curioui aiiv 



w 









1 
ii 









he dual. 



■ 



COPLAS DE MAXRIQUE. 



13 



How soon depart ! 

1 not the shadowy phantoms stay, 

Is of a mistress they, 
fickle heart. 

These gifts in Fortune's hands are 
fou: 
ift revolving wheel turns round, 
And they are % 
■ the in< 
Hut ng, and without 1 

1] hurries on. 

■n could the hand of avarice save 
I _ :ill the grave 

:i sui h poor h< ly ; 

I in empty di 

And where are th< 

i : ll lu<t 

from the dust, 

1 the lii id the tomb. 

the immortal doom 

aally ! 

Inch mask 
In ti 
Wi ,il, 

ihe flei of the ch 

bush in the rai 
Wherein we fall ? 

. n«> dangerou heed, 

ut onward sp» 
\\ h loosened rein ; 

!, when the f.ital snare is v.v 
strive to check our mad car. 
Bui strive in vain. 

Could wc new charms to age impart, 
And fashion with a cunning art 
The human face, 

can clothe the soul with light, 
And make the glorious spirit br; 
With heavenly grace, 

I I iw busily each passing hour 

ild we exert that magic power, 
What ardor show. 

deck the sensual slave of sin, 
Vet leave the freeborn soul within, 
In weeds of woe ! 

Monarchs, the powerful and the strong, 
Famous in history and in song 
Of olden time, 



Saw, by the stern decrees of fate, 
Their kingdoms lost, and desolate 
Their race sublime. 

Who is the champion ? who the strong? 

•iff and priest, and sceptred throng? 
( )n these shall fall 

heavily the hand of Death, 
Afl when it &tays the shepherd's breath 

ide hi> stall. 

I 5] '. DOl of the Trojan name, 

her it- hanvb 

Has mel our eyes ; 

rious dead, 
Though we have beard so ou, and 

id, 
Their bistOTM 

now to know 
1 

Nor how they roll 
( >ur themi iy, 

Whi( li to oblivion 
I.ik id. 

Where is tin- King, Don Juan ? Where 
1] prince and noble h 

Wli. illantrii 

etnpri 
In battle doiM 

Tourney and joust, that charmed the 

An ' OUS panoply, 

nodding plume, 
What were they but a pageant scene? 
What but the garlano and green, 

That deck the tomb? 

Where are the high-born dames, and 

where 
Their gay attire, and jewelled hair, 
And od set ? 

Where are the gentle knights, that 

came 
To kneel, and breathe love's ardent 

flame. 
Low at their feet? 

Where is the song of Troubadour? 

Where are the lute and gay tambour 

They loved of yore ? 

Where is the mazy dance of old, 

The flowing robes, inwrought with gold, 

The dancers wore ? 



'4 



TRAXSLATIC 



And he who next the sceptre swayed, 
Henry, whose roval court di- 

^ smilr ed, 

world pleasur 

throne beside ! 

how false and full of guile 

, wluili wire so soft a smile 
I 

been his friend befo: 
nam the fated mo: 

untie* ely walls, 

i hails 
All filled » 

d*, and harness bricht, 
irt kni> 

I on the grass, 
t a n\ he, 













■ 

• hee, 
led in t< 


1 gaJlam 


ew 


nlless 


i 





■lai ml 



\\ king* 
made the bravest and the beat 

be beat, 

. 

xl was their prospen 

duke « 



All these. 

In the dark n- 

ir deeds ol 

or \ 

< • ! 
I 

M so f« 






,1 M 









i Ifiv u ri I li 









• gh, 
Masters, who, in pro 



<tt 
th grief, 

i less solitude 
k desju 



COFLAS DE MA NR 1 QUE, 



i5 



Midway so many toils appear, 
That he who lingers longest here 
Knows most of care. 

Thy goods are bought with many a 

groan, 
By the hot sweat of toil alone, 
And weary hearts ; 
Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, 
But with a lingering step and slow 
Its form depai 

And he, the good man's shield and 

shade. 
To whom nil hearts their homage paid, 
As Virtue's son, 

Roderic Manrique. he whose name 
I written on the scroll of Fame, 
ain's champion ; 

nal deeds and prowess high 
mand no pompous eulogy, 
iw his deeds ! 
Why should their praise in verse be 

sung? 
The name, that dwells on every tongue, 
No minstrel needs. 

friends a friend ; how kind to all 
The va : this ancient hall 

And feudal lief! 

To foes how stern a foe Wlfl he ! 
And to the valiant and the free 
How brave a chief! 

What prudence with the old and wise : 
What grace in youthful gayetic 

In all how sage ! 

tenant to the serf and slave, 
He showed the base and falsely brave 
A lion's rage. 

His was Octavian's prosperous star, 

The rush of Caesar's conquering car 

At battle's call ; 

His, Scipio'a virtue ; his, the skill 

And the indomitable will 

Of Hannibal. 

His was a Trajan's goodness, his 

A Titus' noble charities 

And righteous laws ; 

The arm of Hector, and the might 

Of Tully, to maintain the right 

In truth's just cause ; 

The clemency of Antonine, 
Aurelius' countenance divine, 



Firm, gentle, still ; 
The eloquence of Adrian, 
And T+ieodosius' love to man, 
And generous will ; 

In tented field and bloody fray, 
An Alexander's vigorous sway 
And stern command ; 
The faith of Constantine ; ay, more, 
The fervent love Camillus bore 
1 1 is native land. 

II- left no well-filled treasury. 

He heaped no pile of riches high, 

Nor massive plate ; 

He fought the Moors, and, in their 

II, 
City and tower and castled wall 
Were his estate. 

Upon the hard-fought battle-ground, 
Brave steeds and gallant riders found 
A c ommon grave ; 

Ai.d there the warrior's hand did gain 
The rents, and the long vassal train, 
That conquest i;ave. 

And if, of old, his halls displayed 
The honored and exalted grade 
1 1 is worth had gained. 
So, in the dart trous hour, 

Brothers and bondsmen of his power 
His hand sustained. 

After high deeds, not left untold, 

In the stern warfare, which of old 

' i' was his to share, 

Such noble leagues he made, that more 

And fairer re.' ions, than before, 

I lis guerdon were. 

These are the records, half effaced, 
Which, with the hand of youth, he 

traced 
On history's page ; 
But with fresh victories he drew 
Each fading character anew 
In his old age. 

By his unrivalled skill, by great 
And veteran service to the state, 
By worth adored, 
He stood, in his high dignity, 
The proudest knight of chivalry, 
Knight of the Sword. 

He found his cities and domains 
Beneath a tyrant's galling chains 









TKAXSLATIOXS. 



And cruel power ; 

xe battle a 1e, 

* .ed 
1 m every tower. 

the tri< 

narth ;d 

icnjo ««, 

•ow 
I 

•cal, 
eath tl 

OOCMNIg 

I 

| *• ■ r T .1 1 CUDc • "tk. 



>K. 



idden • 



I 



rrpare 






>« r i« •» me II i 



(.iinr, 









ik not the itnagi 






■ 



i\% 









The soul in 
rupt N\:tl> 

m the e 






en- 






h 

II th 



.1 









• 









ke 












THE NATIVE LAND. 



17 



Upon his mind ; 
Encircled by his family, 
Watched by affection's gentle eye 
So soft and kind ; 

His soul to Him, who gave it, rose ; 

(iod lead it to its long repose, 

Its glorious rest ! 

And, though the warrior's sun has set, 

Its light shall linger round us yet, 

Bright, radiant, blest 



THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE I)E VEGA. 

Shepherd ! who with thine amorous, 
sylvan song 

Hast broken the slumber that encom- 
passed me, 

Who mad'st thy crook from the ac- 
cursed tree, 

On which thy powerful arms were 
stretched so long ! 
Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing foun- 
tains ; 

For thou my shepherd, guard, and 
guide shalt be ; 

I will obey thy voice, and wait to see 

Thy feet all beautiful upon the moun- 
tains. 
Hear, Shepherd ! thou who for thy flock 
art dying, 

O, wash away these scarlet sins, for 
thou 

Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow. 
O, wait ! to thee my weary soul is crying, 

Wait for me ! Vet why ask it, when 
I see, 

With feet nailed to the cross, thou 'rt 
waiting still for me ! 



TO-MORROW. 

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA. 

Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing 

care. 
Thou didst seek after me, that thou 

didst wait, 
Wet with unhealthy dews, before my 

gate, 
And pass the gloomy nights of winter 

there ? 



O strange delusion ! that T did not greet 
Thy blest approach, and O, to Heaven 

how lost, 
If my ingratitude's unkindly frost 
Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon 
thy feet. 
How oft my guardian angel gently cried, 
" Soul, from thy casement look, and 

thou shalt see 
How he persists to knock and wait for 
thee ! " 
And, O ! how often to that voice of sor- 
row, 
" To-morrow we will open," I re- 
plied, 
And when the morrow came I answered 
still, 

" To-morrow." 



THE NATIVE LAND. 

FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO 
DE ALDAN A. 

Clear fount of light ! my native land on 

Bright with a glory that shall never 

' fade I 
Mansion of truth ! without a veil or 

shade, 
Thy holy quiet meets the spirit's 

eye. 
There dweils the soul in its ethereal 

essence, 
Gasping no longer for life's feeble 

breath ; 
But, sentinelled in heaven, itsglorious 

presence 
With pitying eye beholds, yet fears 

not, death. 
Beloved country ! banished from thy 

shore, 
A stranger in this prison-house of 

clay, 
The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for 

thee ! 
Heavenward the bright perfections I 

adore 
Direct, and the sure promise cheers 

the way, 
That, whither love aspires, there shall 

my dwelling be. 



iS 



TRAXSLATIOXS. 



IMAGE Oi D. 

FROM THE ^ 

DB AL 

O Lord I who seest, from yon starry 

■ie the future and the past, 

e own inu 

The world obscures in me w hat once I 



Etern; 



the warmth which thou 
's flowi .»st de- 



she ho 
1 ill be 



I 









ng t O let thy 



jvav* 



i <nd an 

- 



' 



D et the look 01 

And owes its being to the gazer's c 



TH 

FROM Till 

Laugh of the mountain ! — lyre of bird 
■ 
P« :hc 

n ! 

of April, unl m are 

b* 

sc and jessamine, leap* wild in 

or thy devious current 






\\ with gold art 



Srij;htcr 



• 



iy bosom, all trans- 



As tl c crystal, lets the cui 



1c s 
* cone I 
dw 



III \I 1 



i : M I wtf. i \ Tor to, II 












gross vapors, r 
rd 
Down in the west upon the o 



\;>;,-. 






me, — may I again 



\ .ca, so 



I 

eqt 



llO 



flight of v 



Andwl r.twna 

;on my 



Af 



an- 






Bui 



k, aad 

i 



1! 



• I. .ih thou s< 



»w he scorns all 

no oar he w.i 

:s between so 
tores I 



BE A TRICE. 



19 



See, how he holds them, pointed straight 

to heaven, 
Fanning the air with the eternal pin- 
ions, 
That do not moult themselves like 

mortal hair ! " 
And then, as nearer and more near us 

came 
The Bird of Heaven, more glorious 

he appeared, 
So that the eye could not sustain his 

presence, 
But down I cast it ; and he came to 

shore 
With a small vessel, gliding swift and 

light. 
So that the water swallowed naught 

thereof. 
Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot ! 
Beatitude seemed written in his face ! 
And more than a hundred spirits sat 

within. 
" In ex tin Israel de /Egypto ! " 
Thus sang they all together in one 

voice, 
With whatso in that Psalm is after 

written. 
Then made he sign of holy rood upon 

them, 
Whereat all cast themselves upon the 

shore, 
And he departed swiftly as he came. 



THE TERRESTRIAL PARA- 
DISE. 

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXVIII. 

Longing already to search in and round 
The heavenly forest, dense and living- 
green, 
Which tempered to the eyes the new- 
born day, 
Withouten more delay I left the bank, 
Crossing the level country slowly, 

slowly. 
Over the soil, that everywhere breathed 
fragrance. 
A gently-breathing air, that no mutation 
Had in itself, smote me upon the fore- 
head, 
No heavier blow, than of a pleasant 
breeze, 



Whereat the tremulous branches readily 

Did all of them bow downward to- 
wards that side 

Where its first shadow casts the Holy 
Mountain ; 
Yet not from their upright direction 
bent 

So that the little birds upon their tops 

Should cease the practice of their tune- 
ful art ; 
But, with full-throated joy, the hours of 
prime 

Singing received they in the midst of 
foliage 

That made monotonous burden to 
their rhymes, 
Even as from branch to branch it gather- 
ing swells, 

Through the pine forests on the shore 
of Chiassi, 

When ^Eolus unlooses the Sirocco. 
Already my slow steps had led me on 

Into the ancient wood so far, that I 

Could see no more the place where I 
had entered. 
And lo ! my further course cut off a 
river, 

Which, tow'rds the left hand, with its 
little waves, 

Bent down the grass, that on its mar- 
gin sprang. 
All waters that on earth most limpid 
are, 

Would seem to have within them- 
selves some mixture, 

Compared with that, which nothing 
doth conceal, 
Although it moves on with a brown, 
brown current, 

Under the shade perpetual, that never 

Ray of the sun lets in, nor of the 
moon. 



BEATRICE. 

FROM DANTE. PURGATORIO, XXX., 
XXXI. 

Even as the Blessed, at the final sum- 
mons, 

Shall rise up quickened, each one 
from his grave, 

Wearing again the garments of the 
flesh, 






TRAXSLA TIC 



upon that «' hark*. 

dred rote mdvtctm : 
imestengt 

Thcv all were 

And llowm abort and 

r> unn af>« 

th 

And the o- 

•roed, 
Aod th free uprising, ©tnrshad- 

So temper 

attained hU aspect far long 

ti the boaom of a cloud of now- 

U e hands angelic « 

thn»*n up. 
And. 



The °°* 

my 



1 a lady, under a 

colon of the 1 

imoag the living 

*i the back o( cor^eA 

and beat< 

rig. filter* 

at 
\\ 

igh or 
A- 

■ I Itrritft * 

those street melo- 
mnaw «n had 

lost thou thu» 



Contusion and dumay. tor 
EaSeL 

. ti i <i men I icci>ie i e* «»»n en 

ooe bad need ol 
-aw break*, when 

bow* 

d the b« 
forth 




KLBS I 

LEA 






1 
I 






<l. 



makes! the a* 

. nd calk t«- Mi c'^^v 
it snow, and the wind, 
,i,l awsv. and i 



An- 

W 

kj ! t 1 1 « 1 .1 M ; . ilfJiiirll • • > 1 > ' ' ' 












,„ 



THE GRA VE. 



21 



lit the storm retires, and the sky grows 

clear, 
When thy merry step draws near. 

Winter maketh the sun in the gloomy 

Wrap him round with a mantle of 
cloud ; 
I leaven be praised, thy step is nigh ; 
Thou tearest away the mournful 
shroud. 
And the earth looks bright, and Win- 
surly, 
Who baa toiled for naught both late and 
irly, 

1 afar by the new-born year, 
When thy merry step draws near. 






I UK CHILD ASL1 I 

rm: ii 

kt babe ! true portrait of thy fa- 
ther's face, 
Sleep on the bosom that thy lips have 
pressed ! 
Sleep, little one; and closely, gently 
place 
Thy drowsy eyelid on thy moth' 
bre 

Upon that tender eye, my little friend. 
Soft sleep shall come, that Cometh 
not to mi 
I watch to see thee, nourish thee, de- 
fend ; 
'T is tweet to watch for thee, alone 
for thee ! 

His arms fall down ; sleep sits upon 
his brow ; 
His eye is closed; he sleeps, nor 
dreams of harm. 
Wore not his cheek the apple's ruddy 
glow, 
Would younot say he slept on Death's 
cold arm ? 

Awake, my boy 1 I tremble with af- 
fright ! 
Awake, and chase this fatal thought ! 
Unclose 
Thine eve but for one moment on the 
light ! 
Even at the price of thine, give me 
repose ! 



Sweet error ! he but slept, I breathe 
again ; 
Come, gentle dreams, .the hour of 
sleep beguile ! 
O, when shall he, for whom I sigh in 
vain, 
Beside me watch to see thy waking 
smile ? 



1111. CRAVE. 

FROM THE ANGLO-SAXON. 

: thee was a house built 
thou wast born, 
i mould meant 

I thou of mother cairn 
Bui it is not ni tdy, 

its depth measured, 
I 
a long it shall be. 
\ I bring tin -e 
When- thou shah ' 

! ure th' 

And the mould afterward 

Thy house is not 

lily timbered, 

It is unhigh and low ; 

When thou art therein, 
The heel-. w, 

The side -ways unhigh. 
The roof is built 
Thy breast full nigh, 

thou shalt in mould 

veil full cold, 
Dimly and dark. 

is that house, 
And dark it is within ; 
There thou art fast detained 
And I >eath hath the key. 
Loathsome is that earth-house, 
And grim within to dwell. 
There thou shalt dwell, 
And worms shall divide thee. 

Thus thou art laid, 
And leavest thy friends; 
Thou hast no friend, 
Who will come to thee, 
Who will ever see 
How that house pleaseth thee ; 
Who will ever open 



traxsla; 



The door for tl 

ee ; 
- aqpn thou an loath 
And hate: 



K I N 

M \RK. 

h ttood by the lofty 

ma ! 



I 



tiering *" '.)s. 

elm and brain it 



Thrn I ii '•>. ra, » bOJtBi hulk. 



lark » t. hristi 



Juel gave heed to the temp 
boor! 
And mote upon the foe fell 

OMViimaf. I 



And shouted loud, through the 



I 



Sea I 

Ueard a wail, that 
Irivfinir'nN iky I 
Let .mrnend }.. 

*' l.'i. w ) 

nM) 
Mrs <■ 



PVOM THE c.KKV 

me da 

- 
ale an 
And drank the preciou 

Then \at they all to calm and •till. 
And spake' not ooe rude word. 

hen th- 

ot and h wine* 



Created k 






tt 



nt brr>* 






• 



ud ! " 

wabhaa 



' i ' 



ca> 










bad U»urn 


And then - 




re bee the htppjee 








* TIM 



w 

Ai 






WHITHER? 



*3 






14 1 am the Wave of Life, 
Stained with my margin's dust ; 
From the struggle and the strife 
Of the narrow stream I fly 
To the Sea's immensity, 

vash from me the slime 
Of the muddy banks of Time." 



TH E DE AD 



FROM THE GERMAN OF 5TOCKMANN. 

J I >\v they so softly rest, 
All they the holy on< 
U-nto whose dwelling place 

m doth my soul di.iw near 1 
1 1 • \ | oftly rest, 

All in their silent gravi 
Deep to corruption 
Slowly down-sinking ! 

And they 00 longer weep, 
1 1 re, where complaint is still I 
And thcv no longer i 
Here, where all gladness fives ! 
And, by the cypresses 
Softly o'ershadowed, 
Until the Angel 
Calls them, they slumber! 



THE BIRD AND THE SHIP. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER. 

"The rivers rush into the sea, 

By castle and town they 
The winds behind them merrily 

Their noisy trumpets blow. 

"The clouds are passing far and high, 
We little birds in them play ; 

And everything, that can sing and fly, 
Goes with us, and far away. 

" I greet thee, bonny boat ! Whither, or 
whence, 
With thy fluttering golden band ? " — 
" I greet thee, little bird ! To the wide 
sea 
I haste from the narrow land. 

" Full and swollen is every sail ; 

I see no longer a hill, 
I have trusted all to the sounding gale, 

And it will not let me stand still. 



"And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? 

Thou mayest stand on the mainmast 
tall, 
For full to sinking is my house 

With merry companions all." — 

" I need not and seek not company, 
B nny boat, I can sing all alone ; 

For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, 
Bonny boat, I have wings of my own. 

" High over the sails, high over the 
mast. 
Who shall gainsay these joys? 
When thy merry companions are still, 
at last. 
Thou shah hear the sound of my 
voice. 

" Who neither may rest, nor listen may, 
them every one ! 

I dart away, in the bright blue day, 
And the golden fields of the sun. 

" Thus do I Bing my wearv song, 
Wherever the four winds blow ; 

And this same sou-, my whole life long, 
Neither Poet dot Printer may know." 



W HITHER? 

FROM THE GERMAN OF MULLER. 

I heard a brooklet gushing 
From its rocky fountain tkGBg. 
vn into the valley rushing, 
1 fresh, unci wondrous clear. 

I know not what came o'er me, 
Nor who the counsel gave ; 

But I must hasten downward, 
All with my pilgrim-stave ; 

Downward, and ever farther, 
And ever the brook beside ; 

And ever fresher murmured, 
And ever clearer, the tide. 

Is this the way I was going ? 

Whither, O brooklet, say ! 
Thou hast, with thy soft murmur, 

Murmured my senses away. 

What do I say of a murmur? 

That can no murmur be ; 
'T is the water-nymphs, that are singing 

Their roundelays under me. 



TRAXSLATIOXS. 






Let them sine:, my friend, let them mur- 
mur. 

And wander merrily near ; 
The wheels of a mill are going 

In every brooklet cK 



BEWAR1 

FROM THE Cf 

a maiden fair to see, 
fake i 
She can Ix.th false and friendly be, 

- 
She is fooling thee I 

; and 1 i 
I • 
Sh< e and looks d< 

e ! 
>l her r 
Shi 

An< of a golden hi 

And :ue, 

I 
She know it i* Ix 

thee ! 



! 



SO F THE 1 

PROM THE GERM 











1 lie ! 





Bell ! thou soundest mer 
it evenii 

Pel: 

• thou tl ter 

: mourn ? 

I 

I 



I i - I I 1 BY i 

FR<M THE GERMAN Ol 

•' H 

i 



1 he d at gory 






An< 
In the 

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SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. 



25 



Resplendent as the morning sun, 
Beaming with golden hair ? " 

11 Well saw I the ancient parents, 
Without the crown of pride ; 

They were moving slow, in weedsof woe, 
No maiden was by their side ! " 



THE BLACK KNIGHT. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 

'T was Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, 
When woods and fields put off ail sad- 
ness. 

Thus began the King and spake : 
11 So from the halls 
Of ancient Hofburg's walls, 

A luxuriant Spring shall break." 

Drums and trumpets echo loudly, 
Wave the crimson banners proudly, 

From balcony the King looked on ; 
In the play of spears, 
Fell all the cavaliers, 

Before the monarch's stalwart son. 

To the barrier of the fight 
Rode at last a sable Knight. 

" Sir Knight ! your name and scutch- 
eon, say ! " 
** vShould I speak it here, 
Ye would stand aghast with fear ; 

I am a Prince of mighty sway ! " 

When he rode into the lists, 
The arch of heaven grew black with 
mists, 

And the castle 'gan to rock ; 
At the first blow, 
Fell the youth from saddle-bow, 

Hardly rises from the shock ; 

Pipe and viol call the dances, 
Torch-light through the higJi halls 
glances, 

Waves a mighty shadow in ; 
With manner bland 
Doth ask the maiden's hand, 

Doth with her the dance begin ; 

Danced in sable iron sark, 
Danced a measure weird and dark, 

Coldly clasped her limbs around ; 
From breast and hair 
Down fall from her the fair 

Flowerets, faded, to the ground. 



To the sumptuous banquet came 
Every Knight and every Dame ; 

'Twixt son and daughter all dis- 
traught, 
With mournful mind 
The ancient King reclined, 

Gazed at them in silent thought. 

Pale the children both did look, 
But the guest a beaker took : 

" Golden wine will make you whole !" 
The children drank, 
Gave many a courteous thank : 

" O, that draught was very cool ! " 

Each the father's breast embraces, 
Son and daughter ; and their faces 

Colorless grow utterly ; 
Whichever way 
Looks the fear-struck father gray, 

He beholds his children die. 

" Woe ! the blessed children both 
Takest thou in the joy of youth ; 

Take me, too, the joyless father ! " 
Spake the grim Guest, 
From his hollow, cavernous breast : 

" Roses in the spring 1 gather ! " 



SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS. 

Into the Silent Land ! 

Ah ! who shall lead us thither ? 

Clouds in the evening sky more darkly 

gather, 
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the 

strand. 
Who leads us with a gentle hand 
Thither, O thither, 
Into the Silent Land? 

Into the Silent Land ! 

To you, ye boundless regions 

Of all perfection ! Tender morning-vis- 
ions 

Of beauteous souls ! The Future's 
pledge and band ! 

Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, 

Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms 

Into the Silent Land ! 

O Land ! O Land ! 

For all the broken-hearted 

The mildest herald by our fate allotted, 



► 



26 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 



Beckons, and with inverted torch doth 

stand 
To lead us with a gentle hand 
To the land of the great Departed, 
Into the Silent Land ! 



L'ENVOI. 

Ye voices, that arose 
After the Evening's close, 
And whispered to my restless heart re- 
pose ! 

Go, breathe it in the ear 

Of all who doubt and fear, 

And say to them, " Be of good cheerj " 



Ye sounds, so low and calm, 

That in the groves of balm 

Seemed to me like an angel's psalm I 

Go, mingle yet once more 

With the perpetual roar 

Of the pine forest, dark and hoar 1 

Tongues of the dead, not lost, 
But speaking from death's frost, 
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! 

Glimmer, as funeral lamps, 
Amid the chills and damps 
Of the vast plain where Death en- 
camps 1 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 

1 841. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 

" Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me ? " 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December ; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

" I was a Viking- old ! 

My deeds, though manifold, 

No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse ; 

For this I sought thee. 



" Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the gerfalcon ; 
And, with my skates fast-bound, 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 

" Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf's bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

"Bat when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled, 

By our stern orders. 

" Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long Winter out ; 



THE SKELETOX IX ARMOR. 



Often our midnight shout 

t the c< ig, 

tsured in cups i>t" a 
ning the oaken pail) 
Filled to o'erflo wi ng. 

" Once as I told in .;lee 

s of the stom 

eyes di on me, 

Burning yet tend 
And .is the white stars shine 
On the da a ay pine, 

On that dark heart of mine 

U their son splendor. 

'• I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 

et half afraid, 
And in the forest's shade 
Our vows were plighted. 
ler its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast. 
Like birds within their nest 
By the hawk frighted. 

• ight in her father's hall 
Shields -learned upon the wall, 

ing the minstrels all, 

( lhanting his glory : 
When of old Eiddebrand 

Led his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 
hear my story. 

11 While the brown ale he quaff d, 
Loud then the champion laughed, 
And as the wi] ts waft 

Th i un brightly, 

So the loud laugh of m orn, 

• of those lips unshorn, 

1 rom the deep drinking horn 
Blew the foam lightly. 

he was a Prince's child, 
I but a 4 wild. 

And though she blushed and smiled, 

I w irde 1 I 

Should not the d white 

1 .lit, 

IV did ;! Jit 

Her !)• 

had I put 
Be i rith me, — 

>f all was she 
Among th emen ! — 



When on the white sea strand, 
ing his armed hand, 
old Hildebrand, 

W ah twenty horseiie 

'• 1 hen launched they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each ma 
Yet we were gaining t 
When the wind failed u 

And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our toe we saw 
Laugh as he hailed us. 

V; t to catch the ^ale 
Round veered the tla: iil, 

1 )<-.ith 1 was the helmsm ail, 

I >cath without quarter ! 

M idships with iron k 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 
Through the black water ! 

" As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden. 
So toward the open main, ■ 
Beating to sea again, 
Through the wild hurricane, 

Bore I the maiden. 

" Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o 
Cloud like . the shore 

Stretching to leeward ; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty I 
Which, to this very hour, 
uls looking seaward. 

" There lived we many vent 
Time dried the maiden's tea 
She had forgot her feats. 

She was a mother : 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she li< 
hall the sun a: 

( >n such another 1 

;11 grew my bosom then, 
n ! 

me were men, 

The sunlight hateful ! 
In the vast fort it here, 
1 m my warlik 

Fell I upon in-. 
O, death w d 1 



28 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 



" Thus, seamed with many scars 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended ! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!" 

Thus the tale ended. 



THE WRECK OF THE HES- 
PERUS. 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 
That sailed the wintry sea ; 

And the skipper had taken his little 
daughter, 
To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn 
buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 
His pipe was in his mouth, 

And he watched how the veering flaw 
did blow 
The smoke now west, now south. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 

" I pray thee, put into yonder port, 
For I fear a hurricane. 

"Last night, the moon had a golden ring, 
And to-night no moon we see ! " 

The skipper, he blew a whiff from his 
pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 
A gale from the northeast, 

The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 
The vessel in its strength ; 

She shuddered and paused, like a fright- 
ed steed, 
Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither ! come hither ! my little 
daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 



He wrapped her warm in his seaman's 
coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from-a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

" O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

O say, what may it be? " 
"'Tis a fog -bell on a rock-bound 
coast ! " — 

And he steered for the open sea. 

" O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 

O say, what may it be?" 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 

" O father ! I see a gleaming light, 
O say, what may it be ? " 

But the father answered never a word, 
A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies, 

The lantern gleamed through the gleam- 
ing snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and 
prayed 
That sav^d she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled 
the wave, 
On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and 

drear, 

Through the whistling sleet and 

snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 

Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 
A sound came from the land ; 

It was the sound of the trampling surf, 
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her 
bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy 
waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT. 



29 



Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 
A fisherman stood aghast, 

To see the form of a maiden fair, 
Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 
The salt tears in her eyes ; 

And he saw her hair, like the brown 
sea-weed, 
On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow ! 

Christ save us all from a death like this, 
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 



THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 

Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord 
Bids sound the festal trumpet's call ; 
He rises at the banquet board, 
And cries, 'mid the drunken revellers 

all, _ 
" Now bring me the Luck of Eden- 
hall ! " 

The butler hears the words with pain, 
The house's oldest seneschal, 
Takes slow from its silken cloth again 
The drinking-glass of crystal tall ; 
They call it The Luck of Edenhall. 

Then said the Lord : " This glass to 

praise, 
Fill with red wine from Portugal ! " 
The graybeard with trembling hand 

obeys ; 
A purple light shines over all, 
It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. 

Then speaks the Lord, and waves it 

% light : 
" This glass of flashing crystal tall 
Gave to my sires the Fountain- Sprite ; 
She wrote in it, If this glass doth fall, 
Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall I 

"'Twas right a goblet the Fate should 

be 
Of the joyous race of Edenhall ! 
Deep draughts drink we right willingly ; 



And willingly ring, with merry call, 
Kling ! klang ! to the Luck of Eden- 
hall ! " 

First rings it deep, and full, and mild, 
Like to the song of a nightingale ; 
Then like the roar of a torrent wild ; 
Then mutters at last like the thunder's 

fall, 
The glorious Luck of Edenhall. 

" For its keeper takes a race of might, 
The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; 
It has lasted longer than is right ; 
Kling ! klang ! — with a harder blow 

than all 
Will I try the Luck of Edenhall 1 " 

As the goblet ringing flies apart, 
Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; 
And through the rift, the wild flames 

start ; 
The guests in dust are scattered all, 
With the breaking Luck of Edenhall ! 

In storms the foe, with fire and sword ; 
He in the night had scaled the wall, 
Slain by the sword lies the youthful 

Lord, 
But holds in his hand the crystal tall, 
The shattered Luck of Edenhall. 

On the morrow the butler gropes alone, 
The graybeard in the desert hall, 
He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton, 
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall 
The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 

"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall 

aside, 
Down must the stately columns fall ; 
Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride ; 
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball 
One day like the Luck of Edenhall ! " 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT. 

FROM THE DANISH. 

Sir OluF he rideth over the plain, 
Full seven miles broad and seven 
miles wide, 
But never, ah never can meet with the 
man 
A tilt with him dare ride. 



BALLADS AXD OTHER POEMS. 



He saw under the hillside 
A Knight fall well equipped ; 

His steed was black, his helm \ 
barred ; 
He was riding at full speed. 

He wore upon his sp 

tie golden birds ; 
Anon he spurred hi> steed with a clang, 
And there sat all the birds and sang. 

He wore upon his mail 

•.elve little i wheels 

i in eddies the wild wind bl 
And I :id and round the wheels 
tlit- 
He wore before his bn 

lance that was poised in rest ; 

m diamond-stone, 
It made bir Olufs heart to groan. 

e upor. !m 

Id; 
I that gave him tl ens Three, 

iir to behold. 

>on 
lie were come from hea* en down ; 



\ rt thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he, 
II yield me unto the 

im not Christ the Great. 
Thou shah not yield thee yet ; 
I am an Unknown Knight, 
Thn Ma lens have me be- 

dif 

I thou a Knight t 
Andhavethi edight; 

halt thou ride a tilt tl 
rail the Maid. 

first tilt t! 
Th jt ; 

The) | 
The third tilt th< le, 

1 hey 1 
W lie the 1 

ver, 
The youi h. 



I HI. CHILDREN OF MM LORD'S SUPPER. 

FROM THI 

Pf> he church 

Gl' n the n ( >n thi 

lly flames ( .| tl 

'. b) A] 
I h roses, 

Iness and pea- 
Whispered the race of the fl hiauihes 

1 their carol, a jubilant hymn to tin 

was the chun or 

ind « ithin upon ea< h 
Hun w twin- 

re full a hund had it si id with blossoms. 

I kith and the 1 

n, 
>n 
Mai the tal jd the t tinges, 

Wli od .it Ins feet, an eternity slumbered in 

the church within was ado: 

g, their parents' hoj -> of heaven, 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 3 x 

Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism. 
Therefore each nook and corner was swept and cleaned, and the dust was 
Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches. 
There stood the church like a garden ; the Feast of" the Leafy Pavilions 
Saw we in living presentment. From noble arms on the church wall 
Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preacher's pulpit of oak-wood 
Budded once more anew, as aforetime the rod before Aaron. 
Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed with silver, 
Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wind-flowers. 
But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece painted by Horberg, 
Crept a garland gigantic ; and bright-curling tresses of angels 
Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, from out of the shadowy leaf- work. 
Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, blinked from the ceiling, 
And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets. 

Loud rang the bells already ; the thronging crowd was assembled 
Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching. 
Hark ! then roll forth at once the mighty tones of the organ, 
Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits. 
Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast from off him his mantle, 
So cast off the soul its garments of earth ; and with one voice 
Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortal 
Of the sublime Wallin, of David's harp in the North-land 
Tuned to the choral of Luther ; the song on its mighty pinions 
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven, 
And each face did shine like the Holy One's face upon Tabor. 
Lo ! there entered then into the church the Reverend Teacher. 
Father he hight and he was in the parish ; a Christianly plainness 
Clothed from his head to his feet the old man of seventy winters. 
Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angel 
Walked he among the crowds, but still a contemplative grandeur 
Lay on his forehead as clear as on moss-covered gravestone a sunbeam. 
As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly 
Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the day of creation) 
Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint John when in Patmos, 
Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man ; 
Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver. 
All the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered. 
But with a cordial look, to the right and the left hand, the old man 
Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the innermost chancel. 

Simply and solemnly now proceeded the Christian service, 
Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent discourse from the old man. 
Many a moving word and warning, that out of the. heart came, 
Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna on those in the desert. 
Then, when all was finished, the Teacher re-entered the chancel, 
Followed therein by the young. The boys on the right had their places, 
Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and cheeks rosy-blooming. 
But on the left of these there stood the tremulous lilies, 
Tinged with the blushing light of the dawn, the diffident maidens, — 
Folding their hands in nrayer, and their eyes cast down on the pavement. 
Now came, with question and answer, the catechism. In the beginning 
Answered the children with troubled and faltering voice, but the old man's 
Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and the doctrines eternal 
Flowed, like the waters of fountains, so clear from lips unpolluted. 



i BALLADS AXD OTHER POEMS. 

Each time the answer was closed, and as oft as they named the Redeemer, 

Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens all courtesied. 

Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of light there among them, 

And to the children explained the holy, t"he highest, in few words, 

Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity always is simple, 

Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning. 

E'en as the green-growing bud unfolds when spring-tide approaches, 

Leaf by leaf puts forth, and, warmed by the radiant sunshine, 

Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the perfected blossom 

Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its crown in the breezes, 

So was unfolded here the Christian lore of salvation, 

Line by line from the soul of childhood. The fathers and mothers 

Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at the well-worded answer. 

v went the old man up to the altar ; — and straightway transfigured 
(So did it seem unto me) was then the affectionate Teacher. 

e the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful i th and as Judgment 

d he, the God-comm; searcher, earthward descending. 

Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to him were transparent 
Shot he ; his voice \\ p, was low like the thunder afar on. 

So on a sudden transfigured he stood there, he spake and he questioned. 

1 his is the faith of the Fathers, the faith the Apostles delivered, 
This is moreover the faith v. hereunto I baptized you, while still ye 
J on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the portals ot heaven. 
Slumberii. . ed you then the Holy C hurch in its bosom : 

from si ye now. and the li.uht in its radiant splendor 

I vnward rains from the heaven ; — to-day on the threshold of childhood 
Kindly she and m. nrelecti 

ihe knows nai mpulsion, and only conviction desireth. 

This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point of existent 
r the comii ; without ion departeth 

.v from your lips the I I think ye, before ye make answer! 

Think not < > think not with guile to d ier. 

rp is his eye I upon I d. 

i r not with a lie OD Life's )■ iinuy ; the multitude hears fOU, 

ind pai mis, what clear upon earth is and holy 
Standeth I -; thejudg lasting 

I ks from the sun down upon you, and .1 n waitii !e him 

n in letl lblcts eternal. 

Thus then, — believe ye in God, in the rather who this world created? 
Him who redeemed it, tl and the Spirit wl h are united? 

Will ye promise me here, (a holy promi ish 

than all th nhly. and I I broth- 

Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith by your livii 
Th' heavenly faith of affection ! to hope, to forgive, and to suffer, 
what it may your condition, and walk I in upright 

I ye promise me this bet. | and man ? " — With ice 

Answered the young men Ves I and Ves ! with lips softly-breathing 

wered the maidens eke. Then i rom th< i her 

I with the lightnings therein, and he spake in accents more g 
Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Babylon's 1 

" Hail, then, hail to you all ! To the heirdom of heaven be ye welcome ! 
Children no more from this day, but by co. brothers and sistci 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 33 

Yet, — for what reason not children ? Of such is the kingdom of heaven. 
Here upon earth an assemblage of children, in heaven one Father, 
Ruling them all as his household, — forgiving in turn and chastising, 
That is of human life a picture, as Scripture has taught us. 
Blest are the pure before God ! Upon purity and upon virtue 
Resteth the Christian Faith ; she herself from on high is descended. 
Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum of the doctrine, 
Which the Divine One taught, and suffered and died on the cross for. 
O, as ye wander this day from childhood's sacred asylum 
Downward and ever downward, and deeper in Age's chill valley, 
O, how soon will ye come, — too soon ! — and long to turn backward 
Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, where Judgment 
Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, clad like a mother, 
Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart was forgiven, 
Life was a play and your hands grasped after the roses of heaven ! 
Seventy years have I lived already ; the Father eternal 
Gave me gladness and care ; but the loveliest hours of existence, 
When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I have instantly known them, 
Known them all again ; -~they were my childhood's acquaintance. 
Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in the paths of existence, 
Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and Innocence, bride of man's childhood. 
Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the world of the blessed, 
Beautiful, and in her hand a lily ; on life's roaring billows 
Swings she in safety, she heedeth them not, in the ship she is sleeping. 
Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men ; in the desert 
Angels descend and minister unto her ; she herself knoweth 
Naught of her glorious attendance ; but follows faithful and humble, 
Follows so long as she may her friend ; O do not reject her, 
For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens.— 
Prayer is Innocence' friend ; and willingly flieth incessant 
'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven. 
Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the Spirit 
Tugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like flame ever upward. 
Still he recalls with emotion his Father's manifold mansions, 
Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the flowerets, 
Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the winged angels. 
Then grows the earth too narrow, too close ; and homesick for heaven 
Longs the wanderer again ; and the Spirit's longings are worship ; 
Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty. 
Ah ! when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us, 
Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the graveyard, 
Then it is good to pray unto God ; for his sorrowing children 
Turns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and helps and consoles them. 
Yet is it better to pray when all things are prosperous with us, 
Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful Fortune 
Kneels before the Eternal's throne ; and, with hands interfolded, 
Praises thankful and moved the only Giver of blessings. 
Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes not from Heaven? 
What has mankind forsooth, the poor ! that it has not received ? 
Therefore, fall in the dust and pray ! The seraphs adoring 
Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of Him who 
Hung his masonry pendent on naught, when the world he created. 
Earth declareth his might, and the firmament utters his glory. 
Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven, 

3 



34 BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 

Downward like withered leaves ; at the last stroke of midnight, millenniums 

Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but counts them as nothing. 

Who shall stand in his presence ? The wrath of the Judge is terrific, 

Casting the insolent down at a glance. When he speaks in his anger 

Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roebuck. 

Yet, — why are ye afraid, ye children ? This awful avenger, 

Ah ! is a merciful God ! God's voice was not in the earthquake, 

Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes. 

Love is the root of creation ; God's essence ; worlds without number 

Lie in his bosom like children ; he made them for this purpose only. 

Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed forth his spirit 

Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its 

Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven. 

Quench, O quench not that flame ! It is the breath of your being. 

Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father, nor mother 

Loved you, as God has loved you ; for 't was that you may be happy 

Gave he his only Son. When he bowed down his head in the death-hour 

Solemnized Love its triumph ; the sacrifice then was completed. 

Lo ! then was rent on a sudden the veil of the temple, dividing 

Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from their sepulchres rising 

Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears of each other 

Th' answer, but dreamed of before, to creation's enigma, — Atonement ! 

Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for Love is Atonement. 

Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the merciful Father; 

Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from fear, but affection : 

Fear is the virtue of slaves ; but the heart that loveth is willing ; 

Perfect was before God, ancl perfect is Love, and Love only. 

Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest thou likewise thy brethren ; 

One is the sun in heaven, and one, only one, is Love also. 

Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp on his forehead? 

Readest thou not in his face thine origin? Is he not sailing 

Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is he not guided 

By the same stars that guide thee? Why shouldst thou hate then thy brother? 

Hateth he thee, forgive ! For 't is sweet to stammer one letter 

Of the Eternal's language ; — on earth it is called Forgiveness ! 

Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the crown of thorns on his temples? 

Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murderers ? Say, dost thou know him ? 

Ah ! thou confessest his name, so follow likewise his example, 

Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a veil over his failings, 

Guide the erring aright ; for the good, the heavenly Shepherd 

Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it back to its mother. 

This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits that we know it. 

Love is the creature's welfare, with God ; but Love among mortals 

Is but an endless sigh ! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting, 

Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids. 

Hope, — so is called upon earth, his recompense, — Hope, the befriending, 

Does what she can, for she points evermore up to heaven, and faithful 

Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath it 

Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a sweet play of shadows ! 

Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise, 

Having naught else but Hope. Then praise we our Father in heaven, 

Him, who has given us more ; for to us has Hope been transfigured, 

Groping no longer in night ; she is Faith, she is living assurance. 

Faith is enlightened Hope ; she is light, is the eye of affection, 






THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 35 

Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves their visions in marble. 

Faith is the sun of life ; and her countenance shines like the Hebrew's, 

For she has looked upon God ; the heaven on its stable foundation 

Draws she with chains down to earth, and the New Jerusalem sinketh 

Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors descending. 

There enraptured she wanders, and looks at the figures majestic, 

Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of them all is her homestead. 

Therefore love and believe ; for works will follow spontaneous 

Even as day does the sun ; the Right from the Good isan offspring, 

Love in a bodily shape ; and Christian works are no more than 

Animate Love and faith, as flowers are the animate spring-tide. 

Works do follow us all unto God ; there stand and bear witness 

Not what they seemed, — but what they were only. Blessed is he who 

Hears their confession secure ; they are mute upon earth until death's hand 

Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, does Death e'er alarm you? 

Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is he, and is only 

More austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips that are fading 

Takes he the soul and departs, and, rocked in the arms of affection, 

Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the face of its Father. 

Sounds of his coming already I hear, — see dimly his pinions, 

Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon them ! I fear not before him. 

Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. On his bosom 

Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast ; and face to face standing 

Look I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by vapors ; 

Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits majestic, 

Nobler, better than I ; they stand by the throne all transfigured, 

Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and are singing an anthem, 

Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels. 

You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he one day shall gather, 

Never forgets he the weary ; — then welcome, ye loved ones, hereafter ! 

Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, forget not the promise, 

Wander from holiness onward to holiness ; earth shall ye heed not ; 

Earth is but dust and heaven is light ; I have pledged you to heaven. 

God of the universe, hear me ! thou fountain of Love everlasting, 

Hark to the voice of thy servant ! I send up my prayer to thy heaven ! 

Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one spirit of all these, 

Whom thou hast given me here ! I have loved them all like a father. 

May they bear witness for me, that I taught them the way of salvation, 

Faithful, so far as I knew, of thy word ; again may they know me, 

Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy face may I place them, 

Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and exclaiming with gladness, 

Father, lo ! I am here, and the children, whom thou hast given me!" 

Weeping he spake in these words ; and now at the beck of the old man 
Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round the altar's enclosure. 
Kneeling he read then the prayers of the consecration, and softly 
With him the children read ; at the close, with tremulous accents, 
Asked he the peace of Heaven, a benediction upon them. 
Now should have ended his task for the day ; the following Sunday 
Was for the young appointed to eat of the Lord's holy Supper. 
Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the Teacher silent and laid his 
Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks upward ; while thoughts high and holy 
Flew through the midst of his soul, and his eyes glanced with wonderful brightness. 
" On the next Sunday, who knows ! perhaps I shall rest in the graveyard ! 



36 BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 

Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken untimely, 

Bow down his head to the earth ; why delay I ? the hour is accomplished. 

Warm is the heart ; — I will ! for to-day grows the harvest of heaven. 

What I began accomplish I now ; what failing therein is 

I, the old man, will answer to God and the reverend father. 

Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new-come in heaven, 

Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of Atonement? 

What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have told it you often. 

Of the new covenant symbol it is, of Atonement a token, 

Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by his sins and transgressions 

Far has wandered from God, from his essence. 'T was in the beginning 

Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it hangs its crown o'er the 

Fall to this day ; in the Thought is the Fall ; in the Heart the Atonement. 

Infinite is the fall, — the Atonement infinite likewise. 

See ! behind me, as far as the old man remembers, and forward, 

Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her wearied pinions, 

Sin and Atonement incessant go through the lifetime of mortals. 

Sin is brought iorth full-grown ; but Atonement sleeps in our bosoms 

Still as the cradled babe ; and dreams of heaven and of angels, 

Cannot awake to sensation ; is like the tones in the harp's strings, 

Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the deliverer's finger. 

Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the Prince of Atonement, 

Woke the slumberer from sleep, and she stands now with eyes. all resplendent, 

Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with Sin and o'ercomes her. 

Downward to earth he came, and, transfigured, thence reascended, 

Not from the heart in like wise, for there he still lives in the Spirit, 

Loves and atones evermore. So long as- 'lime is, is Atonement. 

Therefore with reverence take this day her visible token. 

Tokens are dead if the things live not. The light everlasting 

Unto the blind is not. but is born of the eye that has vision. 

Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart that is hallowed 

Lieth forgiveness enshrined ; the intention alone of amendment 

Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly things, and removes all 

Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with his arms wide extended, 

Penitence weeping and praying ; the Will that is tried, and whose gold flows 

Purified forth from the flames"; in a word, mankind by Atonement 

Breaketli Atonement's bread, and drinketh Atonement's wine-cup. 

But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with hate in his bosom, 

Scoffing at men and at God, is guilty of Christ's blessed body, 

And the Redeemer's blood ! To himself he eateth and drinketh 

Death and doom ! And from this, preserve us, thou heavenly Father! 

Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread of Atonement ? ' 

Thus with emotion lie asked, and together answered the children, 

11 Yes ! " with deep sobs interrupted." Then read he the due supplications, 

Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed the organ and anthem : 

" O Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our transgressions, 

Hear us ! give us thy peace ! have merry, have mercy upon us ! " 

Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heavenly pearls on his eyelids, 

Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt round the mystical symbols. 

O. then seemed it to me as if God, with the broad eye of midday, 

Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the trees in the churchyard 

Bowed down their summits of green, and the grass on the graves 'gan to shiver. 

But in the children (I noted it well ; I Knew it) there ran a 

Tremor of holy rapture along through their ice-cold members. 






ENDYMION, 



37 



Decked like an altar before them, there stood the green earth, and above it 
Heaven opened itself, as of old before Stephen ; they saw there 
Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right hand the Redeemer. 
Under them hear they the clang of harpstrings, and angels from gold clouds 
Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with their pinions of purple. 

Closed was the Teacher's task, and with heaven in their hearts and their faces, 
Up rose the children all, and each bowed him, weeping full sorely, 
Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but all of them pressed he 
Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, his hands full of blessings, 
Now on the holy breast, and now on the innocent tresses. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands ; 
The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat, 

He earns whate'er he can, 
And looks the whole world in the. face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 

Youcan hear him swing hisheavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow, 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door ; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys ; 
He hears the parson pray and preach, 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise ! 
He needs must think of her once more, 

How in the grave she lies ; 



And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 
A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, 
Onward through life he goes ; 

Each morning sees some task begin, 
Each evening sees it close ; 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy 
friend, 

For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
Thus at the flaming forge of life 

Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
Thus»on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burning deed and thought ! 



ENDYMION. 

The rising moon has hid the stars ; 

Her level rays, like golden bars, 
Lie on the landscape green, 
With shadows brown between. 

And silver white the river gleams, 

As if Diana, in her dreams, 
Had dropt her silver bow 
Upon the meadows low. 

On such a tranquil night as this, 
She woke Endymion with a kiss, 
When, sleeping in the grove, 
He dreamed not of her love. 

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, 
Love gives itself, but is not bought ; 
Nor voice, nor sound betrays 
Its deep, impassioned gaze. 



\» 



38 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 



It comes, — the beautiful, the free, 
The crown of all humanity, — 

In silence and alone 

To seek the elected one. 

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep, 
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, 
And kisses the closed eyes 
Of him, who slumbering lies. 

O weary hearts ! O slumbering eyes ! 
O drooping souls, whose destinies 

Are fraught with fear and pain, 

Ye shall be loved again ! 

No one is so accursed by fate, 
No one so utterly desolate, 

But some heart,, though unknown, 

Responds unto his own. 

Responds, — as if with unseen wings, 
An angel touched its quivering strings ; 
And whispers, in its song, 
11 Where hast thou stayed so long ! " 



THE TWO LOCKS OF HAIR. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF PFIZER. 

A youth, light-hearted and content, 
I wander through the world ; 

Here, Arab-like, is pitched my tent 
And straight again is furled. 

Yet oft I dream, that once a wife 
Close in my heart was locked, 

And in the sweet repose of life 
A blessed child I rocked. 

I wake ! Away that dream, — away ! 

Too long did it remain ! 
So long, that both by night and day 

It ever comes again. 

The end lies ever in my thought ; 

To a grave so cold and deep 
The mother beautiful was brought ; 

Then dropt the child asleep. 

But now the dream is wholly o'er, 
I bathe mine eyes and see ; 

And wander through the world once 
more, 
A youth so light and free. 

Two locks — and they are wondrous 
fair -s- 
Left me that vision mild ; 



The brown is from the mother's hair, 
The blond is from the child. 

And when I see that lock of gold, 
Pale grows the evening-red ; 

And when the dark lock I behold, 
I wish that I were dead. 



IT IS NOT ALWAYS MAY. 

No hay pajaros en los nidos de an tan o. 

Spanish Proverb* 

The sun is bright, — the air is clear, 
The darting swallows soar and sing, 

And from the stately elms I hear 
The bluebird prophesying Spring. 

So blue yon winding river flows, 
It seems an outlet from the sky, 

Where waiting till the west-wind blows, 
The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 

All things are new; — the buds, the 
leaves, 

That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, 
And even the nest beneath the eaves ; — 

There are no birds in last year's nest I 

All things rejoice in youth and love, 
The fulness of their first delight ! 

And learn from the soft heavens above 
The melting tenderness of night. 

Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme, 
Enjoy thy youth, it will not slay ; 

Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, 
lor O, it is not always May ! 

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth, 
To some good angel leave the rest ; 

For Time will teach thee soon the truth, 
There are no birds in last year's nest 1 



THE RAINY DAY. 

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
The vine still clings to the mouldering 

wall, 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
And the day is dark and dreary. 

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 



BLIND BARTIMEUS. 



39 






\ 












My thoughts still cling to the moulder- 
ing Past, 

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the 
blast, 
And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining ; 
Thy fate is the common fate of all, 
Into each life some rain must fall, 

Some days must be dark and dreary. 



GOD'S-ACRE. 

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which 
calls 
The burial-ground God's- Acre ! It is 
just ; 
It consecrates each grave within its 
walls, 
And breathes a benison o'er the sleep- 
ing dust. 

God's- Acre ! Yes, that blessed name 
imparts 
Comfort to those, who in the grave 
have sown 
The seed that they had garnered in 
their hearts, 
Their bread of life, alas ! no more 
their own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 
In the sure faith, that we shall rise 
again 
At the great harvest, when the archan- 
gel's blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and 
grain. 

Then shall the good stand in immortal 
bloom, 
In the fair gardens of that second 
birth ; 
And each bright blossom mingle its 
perfume 
With that of flowers, which never 
bloomed on earth. 

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn 
up the sod, 
And spread the furrow for the seed 
we sow ; 
This is the field and Acre of our God, 
This is the place where human har- 
vests grow I 



TO THE RIVER CHARLES. 

River ! that in silence windest 
Through the meadows, bright and 
free, 

Till at length thy rest thou findest 
In the bosom of the sea ! 

Four long years of mingled feeling, 
Half in rest, and half in strife, 

I have seen thy waters stealing 
Onward, like the stream of life. 

Thou hast taught me, Silent River ! 

Many a lesson, deep and long ; 
Thou hast been a generous giver ; 

I can give thee but a song. 

Oft in sadness and in illness, 

I have watched thy current glide, 

Till the beauty of its stillness 
Overflowed me, like a tide. 

And in better hours and brighter, 
When I saw thy waters gleam, 

I have felt my heart beat lighter, 
And leap onward with thy stream. 

Not for this alone I love thee, 
Nor because thy waves of blue 

From celestial seas above thee 
Take their own celestial hue. 

Where yon shadowy woodlands hide 
thee, 

And thy waters disappear, 
Friends I love have dwelt peside thee, 

And have made thy margin dear. 

More than this ; — thy name reminds me 
Of three friends, all true and tried ; 

And that name, like magic, binds me 
Closer, closer to thy side. 

Friends my soul with joy remembers ! 

How like quivering flames they start, 
When I fan the living embers 

On the hearth-stone of my heart 1 

'T is for this, thou Silent River ! 

That my spirit leans to thee : 
Thou hast been a generous giver, 

Take this idle song from me. 



BLIND BARTIMEUS. 

Blind Bartimeus at the gates 
Of Jericho in darkness waits ; 



4 o 



BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. 



He hears the crowd; — he hears a 

breath 
Say, " It is Christ of Nazareth ! " 
And calls, in tones of agony, 
'Irjaou, ikir)<jov /u.e ! 

The thronging multitudes increase ; 
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace ! 
But still, above the noisy crowd. 
The beggar's cry is shrill and loud ; 
Until they say. " He calleth thee ! " 
©apcrei, cyeipai, (frutvei <re ! 

Then saith the Christ, as silent stands 
The crowd. " What wilt thou at my 

hands?" 
And he replies. " O give me light ! 
Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight ! " 
And Jesus answers, Yvoryi • 
'II -tan? crov attrtu/tt <jt .' 

V that have eyes, yet cannot see, 

In darkness and in mi-cry, 

Recall those mighty Voices Three, 

'\r)<joVy cAerjcroi' fxc ! 

©apcrei, cyetpai, vnaye ! 

'H 7riaTi9 aov aecruKc ere / 



THE GOBLET OF II; 

Fili.fd is Life's goblet to the brim ; 
And though my eyes with tears arc dim, 
I see it liny bubbles swim, 

And chant a melancholy hvmn 
With solemn voice and slow. 

purple flowers. — no garlands green, 
iceal the goblcfs sh. n, 

Nor maddening draughts of Hippo- 

crcne, 
Like fleams of sunshine, flash between 
1 hick leaves of mistletoe. 

This goblet, wrought with curious art. 
Is filled with waters, that upstart. 
When the deep fountains of the heart, 
By strong convulsions rent apart, 
Are running all to waste. 

And as it mantling passes round, 

h fennel is it wreathed and crowned, 
Whose seed and foliage sun-inibrowned 
Are in its waters steeped and drowned, 
And give a bitter taste. 

Above the lowlv plants it towers, 
The fennel, with its yellow flowers, 



And in an earlier age than ours 
Was gifted with the wondrous powers, 
Lost vision to restore. 

It gave new strength, and fearless mood; 
And gladiators, fierce and rude, 
Mingled it in their daily food ; 
And he who battled and subdued, 
A wreath of fennel wore. 

Then in Life's goblet freely press, 
The leaves that give it bitterne- 

the coored waters less, 
For in thy darkness and disti 

New light and strength they give ! 

And he who has not learned to know 
How false its sparkling bubbles show, 
How bitter are the drops of* 
With which it> brim may overflow, 
He has not learned to live. 

The prayer of Ajax v. light ; 

Through all that dark and desperate 

ht. 
The blackness of that noondav night, 
Iced but the return of sight, 
ace. 

: our ui -raver 

i . for light, — for strcneth to bear 

( >ur portion o' the i are 

That cm- hi dumb despair 

One half the human race. 

uffiering, sad humanity ! 

( ) ye a -. who lie 

ped to the lips in mifu 

lid to tj 

Patient, though sorely tried! 

! you in this cup < 

Wh .:s the ' hitter lea/! 

The Battle of our Life is brief, 
The alarm, — the •-. - the relief, 

Then' Bleep we side by side. 









MAIDENHOOD. 

Maiden ! with the mee> n eyes, 

In whose orbs a shadow ! 

Like the dusk in evening skies ! 

Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
Golden in one, 

As the braided streamlets run ! 




EXCELSIOR. 



4i 



Standing, with reluctant feet, 
Where the brook and river meet, 
Womanhood and childhood fleet ! 

Gazing, with a timid glance, 
On the brooklet's swift advance, 
On the river's broad expanse ! 

Deep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must. seem, 
As the river of a dream. 

Then why pause with indecision, 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian ? 

Seest thou shadows sailing by, 
As the dove, with startled eye, 
Sees the falcon's shadow fly ? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
That our ears perceive no more, 
Deafened by the cataract's roar ? 

O, thou child of many prayers ! 

Life hath quicksands, Life hath snares ! 

Care and age come unawares ! 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
Morning rises into noon, 
May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough, where slum- 
bered 
Birds and blossomsmany-numbered : — 
Age, that bough with snows encum- 
bered. 

Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
When the young heart overflows, 
To embalm that tent of snows. 

Bear a lily in thy hand ; 

Gates of brass cannot withstand 

One touch of that magic wand. 

Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, 
In thy heart the dew of youth, 
On thy lips the smile of truth. 

O, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds that cannot heal, 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 

And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 
For a smile of God thou art. 



EXCELSIOR. 



The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad : his eye beneath 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 

Tn happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and 

bright ; 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 

"Try not the Pass ! " the old man said; 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior ! 

"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 
Excelsior ! 

" Beware the pine-tree's withered 

branch ! 
Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
A voice replied, far up the height, 
Excelsior ! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior ! 

A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but -beautiful, he lay, 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 



POEMS ON SLAVERY. 



POEMS ON SLAVERY. 

1 842. 

[The following poems, with one exception, were written at sea, in the latter 
part of October, 1842. I had not then heard of Dr. Channing's death. Since 
that event, the poem addressed to him is no longer appropriate. I have decided, 
however, to let it remain as it was written, in testimony of my admiration for a 
great and good man.] 



TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING. 

The pages of thy book I read, 
And as I closed each one, 
heart, responding, ever said, 
crvant of God ! well done ! " 

Well done ! Thy words are great and 
bold ; 

At times they seem to me, 
Like Luther's, in the days of old, 

Half-battles for the free. 

Go on, until this land revokes 

The old and chartered Lie, 
The feudal curse, whose whips and 
yokes 

Insult humanity. 

A voice is ever at thy side 
Speaking in fc Jit, 

Like the prophetic that cried 

To John in Patmos, ' Write !" 

Write ! and tell out this bloody tale ; 

ord thi^ dire eclii 
Thi- I )ay of Wrath, this landless Wail, 

This dread Apocalypse 1 



THE SLAVE'S DREAM. 

Beside the ungathered rice he lay, 

I lis fickle in hi-- hand ; 
His breast was bare, his matted hair 

Was buried in the sand. 
Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, 

rlc law his Native Land. 

Wide through the landscape of his 
dreams 

Tin- lordly Niger flowed ; 
Beneath the palm-trees on the plain 

* >im 1 more a king he strode ; 
And heard the tinkling caravans 

Descend the mountain-road. 



He saw once more his dark-eyed queen 
Among her children stand ; 

They clasped his neck, they kissed his 
cheeks, 
They held him by the hand ! — 

A tear burst from the sleeper's lids 
And fell into the sand. 

And then at furious speed he rode 
Uong the Niger's ban] 

His bridle reins were golden chains, 

And. with a martial clank, 
At r.u h leap he could feel his scabbard 
of steel 

Smiting his stallion's Hank. 

Before him, like a blood-red t 
The bright flamingoes fle 

From morn till night he followed their 
flight, 

< >'er plains where the tamarind grew, 
Till In- saw tin huts, 

And the ocean rose to view. 



At night he heard the lion roar, 

And the hyena scream, 
And the river-horse, as he crushed the 
reeds 
Beside some hidden stream : 
And it passed, like a glorious roll of 
drums, 
Through the triumph of his dream. 

The forests, with their myriad tongues, 

Shouted of liberty : 
And the Blast of tl h cried aloud, 

With a voice so wild and fri 
1 hat he started in his sleep and smiled 

At their tempestuou 

He did not feel the driver's whip, 

Nor the burning heat of t\.\ 
For Death had illumined the Land of 
Sleep, 






THE SLA VE SINGING A T MIDNIGHT. 



43 



And his lifeless body lay 
A worn-out fetter, that the soul 
Had broken and thrown away ! 



THE GOOD PART, 

THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY. 

She dwells by Great Kenhawa's side, 

In valleys green and cool ; 
And all. her hope and all her pride 

Are in the village school. 

Her soul, like the transparent air 
That robes the hills above, 

Though not of earth, encircles there 
All things with arms of love. 

And thus she walks among her girls 
With praise and mild rebukes ; 

Subduing e'en rude village churls 
By her angelic looks. 

She reads to them at eventide 
Of One who came to save ; 

To cast the captive's chains aside 
And liberate the slave. 

And oft the blessed time foretells 
When all men shall be free ; 

And musical, as silver bells, 
Their falling chains shall be. 

And following her beloved Lord, 

In decent poverty, 
She makes her life one sweet record 

And deed of charity. 

For she was rich, and gave up all _ 

To break the iron bands 
Of those who waited in her hall, 

And labored in her lands. 

Long since beyond the Southern Sea 
Their outbound sails have sped, 

While she, in meek humility, 
Now earns her daily bread. 

It is their prayers, which never cease, 
That clothe her with such grace ; 

Their blessing is the light of peace 
That shines upon her face. 



THE 



SLAVE IN THE DISMAL 
SWAMP. 



In dark fens of the Dismal Swamp 
The hunted Negro lay ; 



He saw the fire of the midnight camp, 
And heard at times a horse's tramp 
And a bloodhound's distant bay. 

Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow- 
worms shine, 
In bulrush and in brake ; 
Where waving mosses shroud the pine, 
And the cedar grows, and the poison- 
ous vine 
Is spotted like the snake ; 

Where hardly a human foot could pass, 

Or a human heart would dare, 
On the quaking turf of the green morass 
He crouched m the rank and tangled 
grass, 
Like a wild beast in his lair. 

A poor old slave, infirm and lame ; 

Great scars deformed his face ; 
On his forehead he bore the brand of 

shame, 
And the rags, that hid his mangled 
frame, 
Were the livery of disgrace. 

All things above were bright and fair, 

All things were glad and free ; 
Lithe squirrels darted here and there, 
And wild-birds filled the echoing air 
With songs of Liberty ! 

On him alone was the doom of pain, 

From the morning of his birth ; 
On him alone the curse of Cain 
Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain, 
And struck him to the earth ! 



THE SLAVE SINGING AT 
MIDNIGHT. 

Loud he sang the psalm of David ! 
He, a Negro and enslaved, 
Sang of Israel's victory, 
Sang of Zion, bright and free. 

In that hour, when night is calmest, 
Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, 
In a voice so sweet and clear 
That I could not choose but hear, 

Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, 
Such as reached the swart Egyptians, 
When upon the Red Sea coast 
Perished Pharaoh and his host. 



POEMS ON SLAVERY. 



And the voice of his devotion 
Filled my soul with strange emotion ; 
For its tones by turns were glad, 
Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. 

Paul at . in their prison,. 

5 of Christ, the Lord arisen, 
I an earthc arm of might 

Broke their dungeon-gates at night. 

what 1 _:el 

I I evangel ? 

ihquakc's arm ght 

.ks his dungeon-gates at nig. 



THE WITNESSES. 

[| de domains 

Half 

I tons in chaii 

th shackled feet and hands. 

1 of dc 

I 

I 

Mack S as, 

th hum 
Whose fettered limbs 

'I 

cs, 
• v. the w 

W I mains 

i ve : 
r neck ith chains, 

'1 heir f ramped with gyves. 

I I that the Lite 
In v ; 

M w ith .i 

in their play ! 

All evil thoughts and 

and lust, and pride ; 
Th< 

ing tide 1 

Tlv f Slaves ; 

m the ab) 
rom unknown graves, 
U M in Witnesses 



THE QUADROON GIRL. 

The Slaver in the broad lagoon 

Lay moored with idle sail ; 
He waited for the rising moon, 

And for the evening gale. 

Under the shore his boat was tied, 

And all her listless c 
Watched the gray alii ;de 

Into the still bay 

•"orange-flowers, and spice, 
n from time to tin 
Like airs that breathe from Paradi 
n a world of crime. 

The Planter, under his roof of thatch, 

htfully and sli 
Th< thumb v the latch, 

1 i seemed in haste to g 

II lid, " My ship at anchor rides 
In yonder broad lagoon ; 

I i mly wail t! 

nd the I f the n. 

. with h d, 

In timid .it tin 
Lik half amazed, 

\ Q on maiden stood 

and full of light, 
1 1, r arm and 

bright, 
n hair. 

] on her lips there played a smile 

•it, 
A .isle 

Mt. 

"Tl oil i barren, — the farm is old"; 

I he thoughtful 1 1 ; 

Th gold, 

\iul then upon the maid. 

II he irt within him wi 

With such ["life, 

ive her 

W! ran in 

of nature n <k ; 

took tl 

Thru i the maiden's 

Her hand Id 

Tlv r led her from the do 

1 le led the hand, 

be his ur 

In a strange and distant land ! 




THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



45 



THE WARNING. 

Beware ! The Israelite of old, who tore 
The lion in his path, — when, poor 
and blind, 
He saw the blessed light of heaven no 
more, 
Shorn of his noble strength and forced 
to grind 
In prison, and at last led forth to be 
A pander to Philistine revelry, — 

Upon the pillars of the temple laid 
His desperate hands, and in its over- 
throw 
Destroyed himself, and with him those 
who made 



A cruel mockery of his sightless woe ; 
The poor, blind Slave, the scoff and 

jest of all, 
Expired, and thousands perished in 
the fall ! 

There is a poor, blind Samson in this 
land, 
Shorn of his strength, and bound in 
bonds of steel, 

Who may, in some grim revel, raise 
his hand, 
And shake the pillars of this Com- 
monweal, 

Till the vast Temple of our liberties 

A shapeless mass of wreck and rubbish 
lies. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 

1843. 

DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Students of Ale aid. 
Gentlemen of Madrid. 



Victorian ) 

Hypolito J ' 

The Count of Lara ) 

Don Carlos J 

The Archbishop of Toledo. 
A Cardinal. 

Beltran Cruzado Count of the Gypsies. 

Bartolome' Roman A young Gypsy. 

The Padre Cura of Guadarrama. 

Pedro Crespo Alcalde. 

Pancho Alguacil. 

Francisco Lard's Servant. 

Chispa Victorian^ s Servant* 

Baltasar Innkeeper. 

Preciosa A Gypsy girl. 

Angelica A poor girl. 

Martina The Padre Curd's niece. 

Dolores Preciosa 's maid. 

Gypsies, Musicians, dfc. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. — The Count of Lara's 
chambers. Night. The Count in 
his dressing-gown, smoking and 
conversing with Don Carlos. 

Lara. You were not at the play to- 
night, Don Carlos ; 
How happened it ? 



DonC. Ihadengagementselsewhere. 
Pray who was there ? 

Lara. Why, all the town and court. 
The house was crowded ; and the busy 

fans 
Among the gayly dressed and perfumed 

ladies 
Fluttered like butterflies among the 
flowers. 



46 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



There was the Countess of MedinaCeli; 
The Goblin Lady with her Phantom 

Lover, 
Her Lindo Don Diego ; Dona Sol, 
And Doiia Serafina, and her cousins. 
Don C. What was the play? 
Lara. It was a dull affair ; 

One of those comedies in which you 

see, 
As Lope says, the history of the world 
Brought down from Genesis to the Day 

of Judgment. 
There were three duels fought in the 

first act, 
Three gentlemen receiving deadly 

wounds, 
Laying their hands upon their hearts, 

and saying, 
" O, I am dead ! " a lover in a closet, 
An old hidalgo, and a pay Don Juan, 
A Dona Inez with a black mantilla. 
Followed at twilight by an unknown 

lover, 
Who lo,>k- intently where he knows 

she is not ! 
Don C. Of course, the Preciosa 

danced to-night? 
Lara. And never better. Every 

footstep fell 
As lightly as a sunbeam on the water. 
I think the girl extremely beautiful. 
Don C. Almost beyond the privilege 

of woman ! 
1 -aw her in the Prado yesterdav. 
Her step was royal, — queen-like, — 

and her face 
As beautiful as a saint's in Paradise. 
Lam. May not a saint fall from her 

Paradise, 
And be no more a saint ? 

Jhin C. Why do you ask ? 

Lara. Because I have heard it said 

this angel fell, 
And, though she is a virgin outwardly, 
Within she is a sinner; like those 

panels 
Of doors and altar-pieces the old monks 
Painted in convents, with the Virgin 

Mary 
On the outside, and on the inside Ve- 
nus ! 
Don C. You do her wrong ; indeed, 

you do her wron 
She is as virtuous as she is fair. 



Lara. How credulous you are ! Why 
look you, friend, 

There 's not a virtuous woman in Ma- 
drid, 

In this whole city ! And would you 
persuade me 

That a mere dancing-girl, who shows 
herself, 

Nightly, half naked, on the stage, for 
money, 

And with voluptuous motions fires the 
blood 

Of inconsiderate youth, is to be held 

A model for her virtue ? 

Don C. You forget 

She is a Gypsy girl. 
Lara. And therefore won 

The easier. 

Don C. Nay, not to be won at all 1 

The only virtue that a Gypsy prizes 

Is chastity. That is her only virtue. 

Dearer than life she holds it. I re- 
member 

A Gypsy woman, a vile, shameless 
bawd, 

Whose craft was to betray the young and 
fair ; 

And yet this woman was above all 
bribes. 

And when a noble lord, touched by her 
beauty, 

The wild and wizard beauty of her 
race, 

Offered her gold to be what she made 
others, 

She turned upon him, with a look of 
>rn, 

And smote him in the face ! 

Lara. And does that prove 

That Preciosa is above suspicion ? 
Don C. It proves a nobleman "may 
be repulsed 

When he thinks conquest easy. I be- 
lieve 

That woman, in her deepest degrada- 
tion, 

Holds something sacred, something un- 
dctiled, 

Some pledge and keepsake of her high- 
er nature, 

And, like the diamond in the dark, re- 
tains 

Some quenchless gleam of the celestial 
fight I 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



47 



Lara. Yet Preciosa would have tak- 
en the gold. 
Don C. {rising). I do not think so. 
Lara. I am sure of it. 

But why this haste ? Stay yet a little 

longer, 
And fight the battles of your Dulcinea. 
Don C. 'T is late. I must begone, 
for if I stay 
You will not be persuaded. 
Lara. Yes ; persuade me. 

Don C. No one so deaf as he who 

will not hear ! 
Lara. No one so blind as he who 

will not see ! 
Don C. And so good night. I wish 
you pleasant dreams, 
And greater faith in woman. [Exit. 
Lara. Greater faith ! 

I have the greatest faith ; for I believe 
Victorian is her lover. I believe 
That I shall be to-morrow ; and there- 
after 
Another, and another, and another, 
Chasing each other through her zodiac, 
As Taurus chases Aries. 

{Enter Francisco with a casket.) 

Well, Francisco, 
What speed with Preciosa ? 

Fran. None, my lord. 

She sends your jewels back, and bids 

me tell you 
She is not to be purchased by your gold. 
Lara. Then I will try some other 
way to win her. 
Pray, dost thou know Victorian ? 

Fran. Yes, my lord ; 

I saw him at the jeweller's to-day. 
Lara. What was he doing there ? 
Fran. I saw him buy 

A golden ring, that had a ruby in it. 
Lara. Was there another like it? 
Fran. One so like it 

I could not choose between them. 

Lara. It is well. 

To-morrow morning bring that ring to 

me. 
Do not forget. Now light me to my bed. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene II. — A street in Madrid. 
Enter Chispa, followed by musi- 
cians, with a bagpipe, gtiitars, and 
other instruments. 



Chispa. Abernuncio Satanas ! and 
a plague on all lovers who ramble about 
at nightj drinking the elements, instead 
of sleeping quietly in their beds. Ev- 
ery dead man to his cemetery, say I ; 
and every friar to his monastery. Now, 
here 's my master, Victorian, yesterday 
a cow-keeper, and to-day a gentleman ; 
yesterday a student, and to-day a lover ; 
and I must be up later than the night- 
ingale, for as the abbot sings so must 
the sacristan respond. God grant he 
may soon be married, for then shall all 
this serenading cease. Ay, marry ! 
marry ! marry ! Mother, what does 
marry mean ? It means to spin, to bear 
children, and to weep, my daughter ! 
And, of a truth, there is something 
more in matrimony than the wedding- 
ring. {To the musicians.) And now, 
gentlemen, Pax vobiscum ! as the ass 
said to the cabbages. Pray, walk this 
way ; and don't hang down your heads. 
It is no disgrace to have an old father 
and a ragged shirt. Now, look you, 
you are gentlemen who lead the life of 
crickets ; you enjoy hunger by day and 
noise by night. Yet, I beseech you, 
for this once be not loud, but pathetic ; 
for it is a serenade to a damsel in bed, 
and not to the Man in the Moon. Your 
object is not to arouse and terrify, but 
to soothe and bring lulling dreams. 
Therefore, each shall not play upon his 
instrument as if it were the only one 
in the universe, but gently, and with a 
certain modesty, according with the 
others. Pray, how may I call thy 
name, friend? 

First Mus. Geronimo Gil, at your 
service. 

Chispa. Every tub smells of the 
wine that is in it. Pray, Geronimo, is 
not Saturday an unpleasant day with 
thee? 

First Mus. Why so ? 

Chispa. Because I have heard it 
said that Saturday is an unpleasant day 
with those who have but one shirt. 
Moreover, I have seen thee at the 
tavern, and if thou canst run as fast as 
thou canst drink, I should like to hunt 
hares with thee. What instrument is 
that? 



THE SPANISH STUD EXT. 



First Mus. An Aragonese bagpipe. 

Chispa. Pray, art thou related to 
the bagpiper of Bujalance, who asked 
a maravedi for playing, and ten for 
leaving oft"? 

First Mus. No. your honor. 

Chispa. I am glad of it. What oth- 
er instruments have we ? 

Second and Third Mus. We play 
the bandurria. 

Chispa. A pleasing instrument. And 
thou ? 

Fourth Mus. The fife. 

Chispa. I like it ; it has a cheerful, 
soul-stirring sound, that soars up to my 
lady's window like the song of a swal- 
low. And you others? 

Other Mus. We are the singe 
please your honor. 

i are too many. Do you 
think we ai to sine mass in the 

cathedral < ' Four men can 

make but little use of ore shoe, and I 
sec not how you can ail ting in one 
song. But follow me alone; the garden 
wall. That is the way my master climbs 
to the lady's window. It is by the 
ir's skirts that the Devil climb; 
into the be 1 try. Come, follow mc. and 
make no noise. nt. 

SCBNB III. — Pri Vr. 

She stands ai tk W. 

PrtC. II • ly through the lilac- 

nr 
Descends the tranquil moon ! Like 

thi \n 

The .clouds float in the peaceful 

sky ; 
And y from yon hollow vaults of 

tde 
The nightingales breathe out their souls 

ir, 
And hark ! what songs of love, what 

ounds, 
Answer them from below ! 

SI E. 

Stars of the summer night ! 

Ftf in yon azure 
Hide, hide your golden light I 

Sh 

My lady sleeps ! 
Sleeps ! 



Moon of the summer night ! 

Far down yon western steeps, 
Sink, sink in silver light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Wind of the summer night ! 

Where yonder woodbine creeps, 
Fold, fold thy pinions light ! 

She sleeps ! 
My lady sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! 

Dreams of the summer night ! 

Tell her, her lover Ice 
Watch ! while in slumbers light 

Si m I 

My lady sleeps ! 

Sleep 

(/ Victorian by the balcony.} 

r little d Thoutrenv 

blest like a leaf! 
Prec. I am 'cned ! 'T is for 

thee I trembl 
I hate to have thee climb that wall by 
night ! 

/'• my love, but thou. 

Prtc. ' 1 ; and 

when thou ai 
I thide myself for letting thee come 

Tin thily by night Where hast 

thou been ? 
Since J I have no news from 

th< 

'. Since vestcrdav I \e been in 

he time will come, sv 

When that didl distance shall no n 

divide us ; 
And I no mote shall scale thy wall by 
lit 

i from thee. I 
Prtc. An honest thief, to steal b 
what i 1 

.-. And we shall sit together mi- 
mol 
And words ol true lovi 

to tongue, 
As singing birds from one bough to 
other. 



m. 

)Ut 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



49 






Prec. That were a life to make time 
envious ! 
I knew that thou wouldst come to me 

to-night, 
I saw thee at the play. 

Vict. Sweet child of air ! 

Never did I behold thee so attired 
And garmented in beauty as to-night ! 
What hast thou done to make thee 
look so fair? 
Prec. Am I not always fair ? 
Vict. Ay, and so fair 

That I am jealous of all eyes that see 

thee, 
And wish that they were blind. 

Prec. I heed them not ; 

When thou art present, I see none but 
thee ! 
Vict. There 's nothing fair nor beau- 
tiful, but takes 
Something from thee, that makes it 
beautiful. 
Prec. And yet thou leavest me for 

those dusty books. 
Vict. Thou comest between me and 
those books too often ! 
I see thy face in everything I see ! 
The paintings in the chapel wear thy 

looks, 
The canticles are changed to sarabands, 
And with the learned doctors of the 

schools 
I see thee dance cachuchas. 

Prec. In good sooth, 

I dance with learned doctors of the 

schools 
To-morrow morning. 

Vict. And with whom, I pray ? 

Prec. A grave and reverend Cardi- 
nal, and his Grace 
The Archbishop of Toledo. 

Vict. What mad jest 

Is this ? 
Prec. It is no jest ; indeed it is 

not. 
Vict. Prithee, explain thyself. 
Prec. Why, simply thus. 

Thou knowest the Pope has sent here 

into Spain 
To put a stop to dances on the stage. 
Vict. I have heard it whispered. 
Prec. Now the Cardinal, 

Who for this purpose comes, would 
fain behold 




With his own eyes these dances ; and 
the Archbishop 

Has sent for me — 

Vict. That thou mayst dance be- 
fore them ! 

Now viva la cachucha ! It will breathe 

The fire of youth intothesegray oldmen! 

'T will be thy proudest conquest ! 
Prec. Saving one. 

And yet I fear these dances will be 
stopped, 

And Preciosa be once more a beggar. 

Vict. The sweetest beggar that e'er 
asked for alms ; 

With such beseeching eyes, that when 
I saw thee 

I gave my heart away ! 
Prec. Dost thou remember 

When first we met ? 

Vict. It was at Cordova, 

In the cathedral garden. Thou wast 
sitting 

Under the orange-trees, beside a foun- 
tain. 
Prec. 'T was Easter-Sunday. The 
full-blossomed trees 

Filled all the air with fragrance and 
with joy. 

The priests were singing, and the or- 
gan sounded, 

And then anon the great cathedral bell. 

It was the elevation of the Host. 

We both of us fell down upon our knees, 

Under the orange boughs, and prayed 
together. 

I never had been happy till that mo- 
ment. 
Vict. Thou blessed angel ! 
Prec. And when thou wast gone 

I felt an aching here. I did not speak 

To any one that day. But from that 
day 

Bartolome grew hateful unto me. 

Vict. Remember him no more. Let 
not his shadow 

Come between thee and me. Sweet 
Preciosa ! 

I loved thee even then, though I was 
silent ! 
Prec. I thought I ne'er should see 
thy face again. 

Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in it. 
Vict. That was the first sound in 
the song of love 1 



5° 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



Scarce more than silence is, and yet a 

sound. 
Hands of invisible spirits touch the 

strings 
Of that mysterious instrument, the 

soul, 
And play the prelude of our fate. We 

hear 
The voice prophetic, and are not alone. 
Prec. That is my faith. Dost thou 

believe these warnings? 
Vict. So far as this. Our feelings 

and our thoughts 
Tend ever on, and rest not in the 

Present. 
As drops of rain fall into some dark 

well, 
And from below comes a scarce audible 

sound, 
So fall our thoughts into the dark Here- 
after, 
And their mysterious echo reaches us. 
Free. I have felt it so, but found no 

words to say it ! 
I cannot reason ; I can only feel ! 
But thou hast language for all thoughts 

and feel in 
Thou art a scholar ; and sometimes I 

think 
cannot walk together in this world ! 
The distance that divides us is too 

it ! 
Henceforth thy pathway lies among the 

n : 
I must not hold thee back. 

/ ict. Thou little sceptic ! 

Dost thou still doubt? What 1 most 

prize in woman 
Is her affections, not her intellect ! 
The intellect is finite; but the affec- 
tions 
Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted. 
Compare me with the great men of the 

earth ; 
What am I ? Why, a pygmy among 

giants ! 
But if thou lovest, — mark me ! I say 

lovest, 
The greatest of thy sex excels thee not ! 
The world of the affections is thy world, 
Not that of man's ambition. In that 

stillness 
Which most becomes a woman, calm 

and holy, 



Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart, 
Feeding its flame. The element of 

fire 
Is pure. It cannot change nor hide its 

nature, 
But burns as brightly in a Gypsy camp 
As in a palace hall. Art thou con- 
vinced? 
Free. Yes, that I love thee, as the 
good love heaven ; 
But not that 1 am worthy of that heaven. 
How shall I more deserve it ? 

/ 'ict. Loving more. 

Prec. I cannot love thee more ; my 

heart is full. 
/ 'id. Then let it overflow, and I 
will drink it, 
As in the summer-time the thirsty sands 
Drink the swift waters of the Manza- ' 

nares, 
And still do thirst for more. 

A Watchman {in the street). Ave 

If aria 

Purissima ! 'T is midnight and serene 1 
Vict. Hear'st thou that cry? 
Pr It is a hateful sound, 

To scare thee from me ! 

Vict. the hunter's horn 

Doth scare the timid stag, or bark of 

hounds 
The moor-fowl from his mate. 

/'/ Pray, do not go I 

/ 'ict. I must away \> ht. 

Think of me when 1 am away. 

Pn Fear not ! 

I have no thoughts that do not think 
of thee. 
/ 'ict. {giving her a ring-). And to 
remind thee of mv lo\ e. take this; 
rpent, emblem of Eternity ; 
A ruby. — say, a drop of my heart's 
blood. 
Free. It is an ancient saying, that 
the ruby 
Brings ij'iclness to the wearer, and pre- 
serves 
The heart pure, and, if laid beneath 

the pillow, 
Drives away evil dreams. But then, 

alas 1 
It was a serpent tempted Eve 
Vict. What convent of barefo< 
( nrmelites 
Taught thee so much theology? 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



51 



Prec. {laying her hand upon his 
■mouth). Hush ! hush ! 

Good night ! and may all holy angels 
guard thee ! 
Vict. Good night ! good night ! 
Thou art my guardian angel ! 
I have no other saint than thou to 
pray to ! 

{He descends by the balcony) 

Prec. Take care, and do not hurt 

thee. Art thou safe ? 
Vict, {from the garden). Safe as my 
love for thee ! But art thou safe ? 
Others can climb a balcony by moon- 
light 
As well as I. Pray shut thy window 

close ; 
I am jealous of the perfumed air of 

night 
That from this garden climbs to kiss 
thy lips. 
Prec. [throwing down her handker- 
chief). Thou silly child ! Take 
this to blind thine eyes, 
It is my benison ! 

Vict. And brings to me 

Sweet fragrance from thy lips, as the 

soft wind 
Wafts to the out-bound mariner the 

breath 
Of the beloved land he leaves behind. 
Prec. Make not thy voyage long. 
Vict. To-morrow night 

Shall see me safe returned. Thou art 

the star 
To guide me to an anchorage. Good 

night ! 
My beauteous star ! My star of love, 
good night ! 
Prec. Good night ! 
Watchman {at a distance). Ave 
Maria Purissima ! 

Scene IV. — An inn on the road to 
Alcald. Baltasar' asleep on a 
bench. Enter Chispa. 

Chispa. And here we are, half-way 
to Alcala, between cocks and midnight. 
Body o' me ! what an inn this is ! The 
lights out, and the landlord asleep. 
Hola ! ancient Baltasar ! 

Bal. {waking). Here I am. 

Chispa, Yes, there you are, like a 



one-eyed Alcalde in a town without 
inhabitants. Bring a light, and let me 
have supper. 

Bal. Where is your master ? 

Chispa. Do not trouble yourself 
about him. We have stopped a mo- 
ment to breathe our horses ; and, if 
he chooses to walk up and down in the 
open air, looking into the sky as one 
who hears it rain, that does not satisfy 
my hunger, you know. But be quick, 
for I am in a hurry, and every man 
stretches his legs according to the 
length of his coverlet. What have we 
here? 

Bal. {setting a light on the table). 
Stewed rabbit. 

Chispa {eating). Conscience of 
Portalegre ! Stewed kitten, you mean ! 

Bal. And a pitcher of Pedro Ximenes, 
with a roasted pear in it. 

Chispa {drinking). Ancient Balta- 
sar, amigo ! You know how to cry 
wine and sell vinegar. I tell you this 
is nothing but Vino Tinto of La Mancha, 
with a tang of the swine-skin. 

Bal. I swear to you by Saint Simon 
and Judas, it is all as I say. 

Chispa. And I swear to you by Saint 
Peter and Saint Paul, that it is no such 
thing. Moreover, your supper is like 
the hidalgo's dinner, very little meat 
and a great deal of tablecloth. 

Bal. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Chispa. And more noise than nuts. 

Bal. Ha ! ha ! ha ! You must have 
your joke, Master Chispa. But shall 
I not ask Don Victorian in, to take a 
draught of the Pedro Ximenes ? 

Chispa. No ; you might as well say, 
" Don' t-you- want-some ? " to a dead 
man. 

Bal. Why does he go so often to 
Madrid? 

Chispa. For the same reason that 
he eats no supper. He is in love. Were 
you ever in love, Baltasar? 

Bal. I was never out of it, good 
Chispa. It has been the torment of 
my life. 

Chispa. What ! are you on fire, too, 
old hay-stack? Why, we shall never 
be able to put you out. 

Vict, {without). Chispa I 



52 



THE SPANISH STUD EXT. 



Chispa. Go to bed, Pero Grullo, 
for the cocks are crowing. 

Vict. Ea ! Chispa ! Chispa ! 

Chispa. Ea ! Seiior. Come with 
me, ancient Baltasar. and bring water 
for the horses. I will pay for the sup- 
per to-morrow. • [Exeunt. 

Scene V. — Victorian's chambers 
at Alcald. Hy pol I to asleep in an 
arm-chair. He aiuakes sioiuiy. 

Hyp. I must have been asleep ! ay, 

sound asleep ! 
And it was all a dream. O sleep, sweet 

sleep! 
Whatever form thou takest, thou art 

fair, 
Holding unto our lips thy goblet filled 
Out of Oblivion's well, a healing 

draught ! 
The candies have burned low ; it must 

be late. 
Where can Victorian be ? Like Fray 

urrillo, 
The only place in which one cannot 

find him 
Is his own cell. Here 's his guitar, that 

seldom 
Feels the caresses of its master's hand. 

n thy silent h; et instrumi 

And make dull midnight merry with a 

song. 

{He plays and Stiffs.) 

re 1 ran* isco ! 

What do ymi want ol I Francisco? 

Here is a pretty young maiden 
Who want! to ( 01 r sins! 

Open the door and let her come in, 
I will shrive her from every sin. 

mier Victorian.) 

Vict. Padre Hypolito ! Padre Hy- 

polito ! 
Hyp. What do you want of Padre 

Hypolito ? 
Vict. Come, shrive me straight ; for, 
if love be a sin, 
I am the greatest sinner that doth live. 
I will corneal the sweetest of all crimes, 
A maiden wooed and won. 

Hyp. The same old tale 

Of the old woman in the chimney -corner, 



Who, while the pot boils, says, " Come 

here, my child ; 
I '11 tell thee a story of my wedding-day. " 
Vict. Nay, listen, lor my heart is 
full ; so full 
That I must speak. 

Hyp. Alas ! that heart of thine 

Is like a scene in the old play ; the curtain 
Rises to solemn music, and io ! enter 
The eleven thousand virgins of Cologne | 
/ 'ic/. Nay, like the Sibyl's volumes, 
thou shouldst say ; 
Those that remained, after the six were 

burned, 
Being held more precious than the nine 

_ ether. 
But listen to my tale. Dost thou re- 

member 
The Gypsy uirl we saw at Cordova 
] lance the Romalis in the market-place? 
Hyp. Thou meanest Preciosa. 
/ i . the same. 

Thou knowest how her image haunted 
me 

I one after we returned to Alcala. 
She s in .Madrid. 

Hyp. I know it. 

And I 'm in love. 
Hyp. And therefore in Madrid when 
thou shouldst be 
In Alcald. 

/. O pardon me, my friend, 

If I so long have kept tl ret from 

thee ; 
But is the charm that guards such 

treasui 
And, ii n ere the time, 

They sink again, they were not meant 

for us. 
Hyp. ee thou art in love. 

Lov old out better than a 

ik. 
It serves f< and raiment. Give a 

S] aniard 

. his olla, and his Dofia 

I in a — 
Thou knowest the proverb. But pray 
tell me. 1<> 

I I w speeds thy wooing? Is the maiden 

•V ? 

Write her a song, beginning with an 

A \ 
Sing as the monk sang to the Virgin 

Mary, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



S3 



A ve ! cujus calcem dare 
Nee cenienni commendare 
Sciret Seraph studio I 

Vict. Pray, do not jest ! This is no 
time for it ! 
I am in earnest ! 

Hyp. Seriously enamored? 

What, ho ! The Primus of great Alcala 
Enamored of a Gypsy ? Tell me frankly, 
How meanest thou ? 

Vict. I mean it honestly. 

Hyp. Surely thou wilt not marry her ! 
Vict. Why not ? 

Hyp. She was betrothed to one Bar- 
tolome, 
If I remember rightly, a young Gypsy 
Who danced with her at Cordova. 

Vict. They quarrelled, 

And so the matter ended. 

Hyp. But in truth 

Thou wilt not marry her. 

Vict. In truth I will. 

The angels sang in heaven when she was 

born ! 
She is a precious jewel I have found 
Among the filth and rubbish of the world. 
I '11 stoop for it ; but when I wear it here, 
Set on my forehead like the morning star, 
The world may wonder, but it will not 
laugh. 
Hyp. If thou wear'st nothing else 
upon thy forehead, 
'T will be indeed a wonder. 

Vict. Out upon thee 

With thy unseasonable jests ! Pray tell 

me, 
Is there no virtue in the world ? 

Hyp. Not much. 

What, think'st thou, is she doing at this 

moment ; 
Now, while we speak of her ? 

Vict. She lies asleep, 

And from her parted lips her gentle 

breath 
Comes like the fragrance from the lips of 

flowers. 
Her tender limbs are still, and on her 

breast 
The cross she prayed to, ere she fell 

asleep, 
Rises and falls with the soft tide of 

dreams, 
Like a light barge safe moored. 



Hyp. Which means, in prose, 

She 's sleeping with her mouth a little 
open ! 
Vict. O, would I had the old magi- 
cian's glass 

To see her as she lies in childlike sleep ! 
Hyp. And wouldst thou venture ? 
Vict. Ay, indeed I would ! 

Hyp. Thou art courageous. Hast 
thou e'er reflected 

How much lies hidden in that one word, 
noiv ? 
Vict. Yes ; all the awful mystery of 
Life! 

I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito, 

That could we, by some spell of magic, 
change 

The world and its inhabitants to stone, 

In the same attitudes they now are in, 

What fearful glances downward might 
we cast 

Into the hollow chasms of human life ! 

What groups should we behold about 
the death-bed, 

Putting to shame the group of Niobe ! 

What joyful welcomes, and what sad 
farewells ! 

What stony tears in those congealed 
eyes ! 

What visible joy or anguish in those 
cheeks ! 

What bridal pomps, and what funereal 
shows ! 

What foes, like gladiators, fierce and 
struggling ! 

What lovers with their marble lips to- 
gether ! 
Hyp. Ay, there it is ! and, if I were 
in love, 

That is the very point I most should 
dread. 

This magic glass, these magic spells of 
thine, 

Might tell a tale were better left un- 
m told. 

For instance, they might show us thy 
fair cousin, 

The Lady Violante, bathed in tears^ 

Of love and anger, like the maid of Col- 
chis, 

Whom thou, another faithless Argonaut, 

Having won that golden fleece, a wo- 
man's love, 

Desertest for this Glauce. 



54 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



Vict. Hold thy peace ! 

She cares not for me. She may wed an- 
other, 
Or go into a convent, and, thus dying, 
Marry Achilles in the Elysian Fields. 
Hyp. {rising). And so, good night ! 
Good morning, I should say. 

{Clock strikes three.) 

Hark ! how the loud and ponderous 

mace of Time 
Knocks at the golden portals of the day ! 
And so, once more, good night ! We '11 

speak more largely 
Of Preciosa when we meet again. 
Get thee to bed, and the magician, Sleep, 
Shall show her to thee, in his magic 

glass, 
In all her loveliness. Good night ! 

" [Exit. 

Vict. Goodnight! 

But not to bed ; for I must read awhile. 

{Throws himself into the arm-chair 
which HYPOLITO has /c/'t, and lays 
a large book open upon his knees.) 

Must read, or sit in revery and watch 

The changing color of the waves that 
break 

Upon the idle sea-shore of the mind ! 

Visions of I .inie ! that once did visit me, 

Making ni^ht glorious with your smile, 
whi 

O, who shall give me, now that ye are 
gone. 

Juices of those immortal plants that 
bloom 
>n Olympus, making us immortal? 

Or teach me where that wondrous man- 
drake t;r<.\\ - 

Whose magic root, torn from the earth 
with groans, 

At midnight hour, can scare the fiends 
away, 

And make the mind prolific in its fan- 
cies? 

I have the wish, but want the will, to 
act ! 

Souls of great men departed ! Ye whose 
words 

Have come to light from the swift river 
of Time, 

Like Roman swords found in the Ta- 
gus' bed, 



Where is the strength to wield the arms 

ye bore ? 
From the barred visor of Antiquity 
Reflected shines the eternal light of 

Truth, 
As from a mirror ! All the means of ac- 
tion — 
The shapeless masses, the materials — 
Lie everywhere about us. What we 

need 
Is the celestial fire to change the flint 
Into transparent crystal, " bright and 

clear. 
That fire is genius ! The rude peasant 

sits 
At evening in his smoky cot, and draws 
With charcoal uncouth figures on the 

wall. 
The son of genius comes, foot-sore with 

travel, 
And begs a shelter from the inclement 

night 
He takes the charcoal from the peasant's 

hand. 
And, by the magic of his touch at once 
Transfigured, all its hidden virtues 

shine, 
And, in the eyes of the astonished 

clown. 
It gleams a diamond ! Even thus trans- 
formed, 
Rude popular traditions and old tales 
Shine as immortal poems, at the touch 
nine poor, houseless, homeless, wan- 
dering bard. 
Who had hut a night's lodging for his 

pains. 
But there are brighter dreams than those 

of Fame, 
Which are the dreams of Love ! Out of 

the heart 
Rises the bright ideal of these dreams, 
As from some woodland fount a spirit 

rises 
And sinks again into its silent deeps, 
Ere the enamored knight can touch her 

robe ! 
'T is this ideal that the soul of man. 
Like the enamored knight beside the 

fountain, 
Waits for upon the margin of Life's 

stream ; 
Waits to behold her rise from the dark 

waters, 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



55 



Clad in a mortal shape ! Alas ! how 

many 
Must wait in vain ! The stream flows 

evermore, 
But from its silent deeps no spirit rises ! 
Yet I, born under a propitious star, 
Have found the bright ideal of my 

dreams. 
Yes ! she is ever with me. I can feel, 
Here, as I sit at midnight and alone, 
Her gentle breathing ! on my breast can 

feel 
The pressure of her head ! God's beni- 

son 
Rest ever on it ! Close those beauteous 

eyes, 
Sweet Sleep ! and all the flowers that 

bloom at night 
With balmy lips breathe in her ears my 

name ! 

{Gradually sinks asleep!) 
ACT II. 

Scene I. — Preciosa ^chamber. Morn- 
ing. Preciosa and Angelica. 

Prec. Why will you go so soon ? Stay 
yet awhile. 
The poor too often turn away unheard 
From hearts that shut against them with 

a sound 
That will be heard in heaven. Pray, tell 

me more 
Of your adversities. Keep nothing from 

me. 
What is your landlord's name? 
A ng. The Count of Lara. 

Prec. The Count of Lara ? O, be- 
ware that man ! 
Mistrust his pity, — hold no parley with 

him ! 
And rather die an outcast in the streets 
Than touch his gold. 

A ng. You know him, then ! 

Prec. As much 

As any woman may, and yet be pure. 
As you would keep your name without 

a blemish, 
Beware of him ! 

A ng. Alas ! what can I do ? 

I cannot choose my friends. Each word 

of kindness, 
Come whence it may, is welcome to the 
poor. 



Prec. Make me your friend. A girl 
so young and fair 
Should have no friends but those of her 

own sex. 
What is your name ? 

Ang. Angelica. 

Prec. That name 

Was given you, that you might be an 

angel 
To her who bore you ! When your infant 

smile 
Made her home Paradise, you were her 

angel. 
O, be an angel still ! She needs that 

smile. 
Solongasyouare innocent, fear nothing. 
No one can harm you ! I am a poor girl, 
Whom chance has taken from the public 

streets. 
I have no other shield than mine own 

virtue. 
That is the charm which has protected 

me ! 
Amid a thousand perils, I have worn it 
Here on my heart ! It is my guardian 
angel. 
A ng. {rising). I thank you for this 

counsel, dearest lady. 
Prec. Thank me by following it. 
A ng. Indeed I will. 

Prec. Pray, do not go. I have much 

more to say. 
Ang. My mother is alone. I dare 

not leave her. 
Prec. Some other time, then, when 
we meet again. 
You must not go away with words alone. 

{Gives her a purse.) 

Take this. Would it were more. 
A ng. I thank you, lady. 

Prec. No thanks. To-morrow come 
to me again. 
I dance to-night, — perhaps for the last 

time. 
But what I gain, I promise shall be 

yours, 
If that can save you from the Count of 
Lara. 
A ng. O my dear lady ! how shall I 
be grateful 
For so much kindness ? 

Prec. I deserve no thanks. 

Thank Heaven, not me. 



56 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



Ang. Both Heaven and you. 
Prec. Farewell. 

Remember that you come again to- 
morrow. 
Ang. I will. And may the Blessed 
Virgin guard you, 
And all good angels. [Exit. 

Prec. May they guard thee too, 

And all the poor ; for they have need 

of angels. 
Now bring me, dear Dolores, my bas- 

quiria, 
My richest maja dress, — my dancing 

dress, 
And my most precious jewels ! Make 

me look 
Fairer than night e'er saw me ! I 've 

a prize 
To win this day, worthy of Preciosa ! 

{Enter Beltran Cruzado.) 

Cruz. Ave Maria ! 
Prec. < ) ( k>d ! my evil genius ! 

What seekest thou here to-day r 

Cruz. Thyself, — my child. 

Prec. What is thy will with me ? 
Cruz. id ! 

Prec. I gave thee yesterday ; 1 have 

no more. 
Cruz. The gold of the Busne\ — give 

me his gold ! 
Prec. I gave the last in charity to- 
day. 
Cruz. That is a foolish lie. 
Prec. It is the truth. 

Cruz. Curses upon thee ! Thou art 
not my child ! 
Hast thou given gold away, and not to 

me? 
Not to thy father? To whom, then? 

Prec. To one 

Who needs it more. 

Cruz. No one can need it more. 

Prec. Thou art not poor. 
Cruz. What, I, who lurk about 

In dismal suburbs and unwholesome 

lanes ; 
I, who am housed worse than the gal- 
ley slave ; 
I, who am fed worse than the kennelled 

hound ; 
I, who am clothed in rags, — Beltran 

Cruzado, — 
Not poor 1 



Prec. Thou hast a stout heart and 
strong hands. 
Thou canst supply thy wants ; what 
wouldst thou more ? 
Cruz. The gold of the Busne* ? give 

me his gold ! 
Prec. Beltran Cruzado ! hear me 
once for all. 
I speak the truth. So long as I had 

gold, 
I gave it to thee freely, at all times. 
Never denied thee ; never had a wish 
But to fulfil thine own. Now go in 

peace ! 
Be merciful, be patient, and erelong 
Thou shalt have moi 

Cruz. And if I have it not, 

Thou shalt no longer dwell here in rich 

chambers. 
War silken dresses, feed on dainty food, 
And live in idleness ; but go with me, 
■ice the Romalis in the public stree s, 
And wander wild again o'er field and 

fell; 
For here we stay not long. 
Prec. What I march again? 
Cruz. Ay, with all speed. I hate 
the crowded town ! 
I cannot breathe shut up within its 

ga; 
Air, — I want air, and sunshine, and 

blue sky. 
The feeling of the breeze upon my face, 
The feeling of the turf beneath my feet. 
And no walls but the far-olf mountain- 
tops. 
Then I am free and strong, — once 

more myself, 
Beltran Cruzado, Count of ihc Calls! 
Prec. Cod speed thee on thy march I 

— I cannot go. 
Cruz. Remember who I am, and 
who thou art ! 
Be silent and obey ! Yet one thing 

more. 
Bartolome' Roman — 
Prec. {with emotion). O, I beseech 
thee ! 
If my obedience and blameless life, 
If my humility and meek submission 
In all things hitherto, can move in thee 
One feeling of compassion ; it thou art 
Indeed my father, and canst trace in 
me 









THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



57 



One look of her who bore me, or one 

tone 
That doth remind thee of her, let it 

• plead 

In my behalf, who am a feeble girl, 
Too feeble to resist, and do not force 

me 
To wed that man ! I am afraid of him ! 
I do not love him ! On my knees I beg 

thee 
To use no violence, nor do in haste 
What cannot be undone ! 

Cruz. O child, child, child ! 

Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a bird 
Betrays her nest, by striving to conceal 

it. 
I will not leave thee here in the great 

city 
To be a grandee's mistress. Make thee 

ready 
To go with us ; and until then remem- 
ber 
A watchful eye is on thee. [Exit. 

Prec. Woe is me ! 

I have a strange misgiving in my heart ! 
But that one deed of charity I '11 do, 
Befall what may ; they cannot take that 

from me. [Exit. 

Scene II. — A room in /^Archbish- 
op's Palace. The Archbishop and 
a Cardinal seated. 

A rck. Knowing how near it touched 
the public morals, 
And that our age is grown corrupt and 

rotten 
By such excesses, we have sent to 

Rome, 
Beseeching that his Holiness would aid 
In curing the gross surfeit of the time, 
By seasonable stop put here in Spain 
To bull-fights and lewd dances on the 

stage. 
All this you know. 

Card. Know and approve. 

A rch. And further, 

That, by a mandate from his Holiness, 
The first have been suppressed. 

Card. I trust forever. 

It was a cruel sport. 

A rch. A barbarous pastime, 

Disgraceful to the land that calls itself 
Most Catholic and Christian. 

Card. Yet the people 



Murmur at this ; and, if the public 

dances 
Should be condemned upon too slight 

occasion, 
Worse ills might follow than the ills we 

cure. 
As Panem et Circenses was the cry 
Among the Roman populace of old, 
So Pany Toros is the cry in Spain. 
Hence I would act advisedly herein ; 
And therefore have induced your Grace 

to see 
These national dances, ere we interdict 

them. 

(Enter a Servant.) 

Serv. The dancing-girl, and with her 
the musicians 
Your Grace was pleased to order, wait 
without. 
A rch. Bid them come in. Now shall 
your eyes behold 
In what angelic yet voluptuous shape 
The Devil came to tempt Saint An- 
thony. • 

(Enter Preciosa, with a mantle 
thrown over her head. She ad- 
vances slowly, in a modest, half- 
timid attitude.) 

Card, (aside). O, what a fair and 
ministering angel 
Was lost to heaven when this sweet wo- 
man fell ! 
Prec. (kneeling before the Arch- 
bishop). I have obeyed the or- 
der of your Grace. 
If I intrude upon your better hours, 
I proffer this excuse, and here beseech 
Your holy benediction. 

Arch. May God bless thee, 

And lead thee to a better life. Arise. 
Card, (aside). Her acts are modest, 
and her words discreet ! 
I did not look for this ! Come hither, 

child. 
Is thy name Preciosa ? 
Prec. Thus I am called. 

Card. That is a Gypsy name. Who is 

thy father ? 
Prec. Beltran Cruzado, Count of the 

Cales. 
A rch. I have a dim remembrance of 
that man ; 



58 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



He was a bold and reckless character, 
A sun -burnt Ishmael ! 

Card. Dost thou remember 

Thy earlier days ? 

Prec. Yes ; by the Darro's side 

My childhood passed. I can remember 

still 
The river, and the mountains capped 

with snow ; 
The villages, where, yet a little child, 
I told the traveller's fortune in the 

street ; 
The smuggler's horse, the brigand and 

the shepherd ; 
The march across the moor ; the halt at 

noon ; 
The red fire of the evening camp, that 

lighted 
The forest where we slept ; and, further 

back, 
As in a dream or in some former life, 
Gardens and palace walls. 

Arch. 'Tis the Alhambra, 

Under whose towers the Gypsy camp 

was pitched. 
But the time wears ; and we would see 

thee dance. 
Prec. Your grace shall be obeyed. 

{She lays aside her mantilla. The 
music of the cochucha is flayed, and 
the dance levins. The ARCHBISHOP 
and the CARDINAL look on with 
gravity and an occasional frown ; 
then make signs to ea< h other ; and, 
as the dance ( otttinues, lecome m 
and more pleased and excited ; and 
at length rise from their seats, throw 
their caf>s in the air, and applaud 
vehemently as the scene closes.) 

Scene I IT. — The Prado. A long 

avenue of trees leading to the gate 
of A toe ha. On the right the do;ue 
and spires of a convent. A fountain. 
Evening. Don Carlos and Hy- 
po Li to meeting. 

Don C. Hola ! good evening, Don 

Hypolito. 
Hyp. And a good evening to my 
friend, Don Carlos. 
Some lucky star has led my steps this 

way. 
I was in search of you. 



Don C. Command me always. 

Hyp. Do you remember, in Queve- 
do's Dreams, 
The miser, who, upon the Day of Judg- 
ment, 
Asks if his money-bags would rise ? 

Don C. I do ; 

But what of that? 
Hyp. I am that wretched man. 

Don C. You mean to tell me yours 

have risen empty? 
Hyp. And amen ! said my Cid the 

Campeador. 
Don C. Pray, how much need you ? 
IlyP- Some half-dozen ounces 

Which, with due interest — 

Don C. {giving his purse). What, am 
I a Jew 
To put my moneys out at usury? 
Here is mv purse. 

//)'/. Thank you. A pretty purse, 
Made by the hand of some fair Madri- 

lena ; 
Perhaps a keepsake. 

Don C. No, 'tis at your service, 
//r/. Thank you again. Lie there, 
good Chrysostom, 
And With thy golden mouth remind me 

often, 
I am the debtor of my friend. 
Don C . But tell me, 

ne you to-day from Alcal 
Hyp, This moment. 

Don C. And pray, how fares the 

brave Victorian ? 
Hyp. Indifferent well ; that is to say, 
not well. 
A damsel has ensnared him with the 

glances 
Of her dark, roving eyes, as herdsmen 

catch 
A steer of Andalusia with a lazo. 
He is in love. 

Don C. And is it faring ill 

To be in love? 

I fyp. In his case very ill. 

Don C. Why so ? 

Hyp. For many reasons. First and 
foremost. 
Because he is in love with an ideal ; 
A creature of his own imagination ; 
A child of air; an echo of his heart ; 
And, like a lily on a river ft oath 
She floats upon the river of his thoughts ! 



Don 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



59 






Don C. A common thing with poets. 
But who is 
This floating lily ? For, in fine, some 

woman, 
Some living woman, — not a mere 

ideal, — 
Must wear the outward semblance of his 

thought. 
Who is it? Tell me. 

Hyp. Well* it is a woman ! 

But, look you, from the coffer of his heart 
He brings forth precious jewels to adorn 

her, 
As pious priests adorn some favorite 

saint 
With gems and gold, until at length she 

gleams 
One blaze of glory. Without these, you 

know, 

And the priest's benediction, 't is a doll. 

Don C. Well, well ! who is this doll ? 

Hyp. Why, who do you think? 

Don C. His cousin Violante. 

Hyp. Guess again. 

To ease his laboring heart, in the last 

storm 
He threw her overboard, with all her 
ingots. 
Don C. I cannot guess ; so tell me 

who it is. 
Hyp. Not I. 
Don C. Why not ? 

Hyp. (mysteriously). Why? Because 
Mari Franca 
Was married four leagues out of Sala- 
manca ! 
Don C. Jesting aside, who is it ? 
Hyp. Preciosa. 

Don C. Impossible ! The Count of 
Lara tells me 
She is not virtuous. 

Hyp. Did I say she was ? 

The Roman Emperor Claudius had a 

wife 
Whose name was Messalina, as I think ; 
Valeria Messalina was her name. 
But hist ! I see him yonder through 

the trees, 
Walking as in a dream. 
Don C. He comes this way. 

Hyp. It has been truly said by some 
wise man, 
That money, grief, and love cannot be 
hidden. 




{Enter Victorian in front.) 



Vict. Where'er thy step has passed 
is holy ground ! 
These groves are sacred ! I behold 

thee walking 
Under these shadowy trees, where we 

have walked 
At evening, and I feel thy presence now ; 
Feel that the place has taken a charm 

from thee, 
And is forever hallowed. 

Hyp. Mark him well ! 

See how he strides away with lordly air, 
Like that odd guest of stone, that grim 

Commander 
Who comes to sup with Juan in the 
play. 
Don C. What ho ! Victorian ! 
Hyp. Wilt thou sup with us ? 

Vict. Hola ! amigos ! Faith, I did 
not see you. 
How fares Don Carlos ? 
Don C. At your service ever. 

Vict. How is that young and green- 
eyed Gaditana 
That you both wot of? 

Don C. Ay, soft, emerald eyes ! 

She has gone back to Cadiz. 
Hyp. Ay de mf ! 

Vict. You are much to blame for 
letting her go back. 
A pretty girl ; and in her tender eyes 
Just that soft shade of green we some- 
times see 
In evening skies. 

Hyp. But, speaking of green eyes, 
Are thine green ? 

Vict. Not a whit. Why so ? 

Hyp. I think 

The slightest shade of green would be 

becoming, 
For thou art jealous. 

Vict. No, I am not jealous. 

Hyp. Thou shouldst be. 
Vict. Why ? 

Hyp. Because thou art in love. 

And they who are in love are always 

jealous. 
Therefore thou shouldst be. 

Vict. Marry, is that all ? 

Farewell ; I am in haste. Farewell, 

Don Carlos. 
Thou sayest I should be jealous ? 



6o 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



Hyp. Ay, in truth 

I fear there is reason. Be upon thy 

guard. 
I hear it whispered that the Count of 

Lara 
Lays siege to the same citadel. 

Vict Indeed! 

Then he will have his labor for his pains. 
Hyp. He does not think so, and 
Don Carlos tells me 
He boasts of his succx 

Vict. How 's this, Don Carlos? 

Don C. Some hints of it I heard from 
his own lips. 
He spoke but lightly of the lady's virtue, 
As a gay man might speak. 

/ 'id. ath and damnation ! 

I '11 cut his lying tongue out ofhis mouth, 
And throw it to my dog ! But no, DO, 

no 
This cannot be. You jest, indeed you 

jest. 
Trifle with me no more. For othcrv 
We are no longer friends. And 

farewell ! [Exit. 

Hyp. Now what a coil is here ! The 
Avenging I 
Hunting the traitor Quadroa to his 

ith, 
And the great Moor Calaynos, when 

be r-'de 
To Paris t'<-r the ear* of Oliver, 

re nothing to him ! < > hot-headed 
th ! 
But come ; we will not follow. Let us 

join 
The crowd that pours into the Prado. 

Tru 
We shall find merrier company ; I see 
The M.iii ilonzi B and the Almavivas, 
And fifty fans, that beckon me already. 

\I : . XCUIlt. 

Scene IV. — Preciosa's chamber. 
She is sitting, with a booh in her 
hand, near a table, on which are 
/lowers. A bird singing in its ca 
Tk ' n'T OF Laka enters behind 
imperccired. 

Prcc. {reads). 

All are sleeping, weary heart ! 
Thou, thou only sleepless art ! 

Heigho ! I wish Victorian were here. 



know not what 
restless ! 



it is makes me so 



( The bird sings.) 

Thou little prisoner with thy motley 

coat, 
That from thy vaulted, wiry dungeon 

singest, 
Like thee I am a captive, and, like 

th« 
I have a gentle jailer. Lack-a-day I 

All are sleeping, Weary heart ! 
Thou, thou only sleepless art ! 
All this throbbing, all this aching, 
ermore shall keep thee waking, 

a heart in so; caking 

Thinketh ever of its smart ! 

Thou speakest truly, poet ! and me- 

thinks 
More hearts are breaking jn this world 

"urs 
Than one would say. In distant villa 

. where winds bavi 
wal 
The barbed seeds of love, or birds of 

1 •' 
ttered them in their flight, do they 

take root, 
1 grow in silence, and in silence 

perish. 
Who hears the falling of the forest l< 
( )r wh< I every Bower that 

di< 
II- >igho ! I wish Victorian would come. 
Dolores ! 







( Turns to lay doivn her i 

i .) 

Ha! 



and 



Lara. 
Lara. 



ii. pardon mc 1 



How 's this ? 

ii mc — 

/'; I I 

Lara. Be not alarmed ; I lound no 
one in waiting. 
If I have I > bold — 

Tree, {turning her bach upon hint). 
Vol "Id ! 

Retire ! retire, and lent 

Lara. My dear lad v. 

First In .m me ! I beseech you, let me 

ak ! 
'T is for your good I come. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



61 









Prec. {turning toward him with in- 
dignation). Begone ! begone ! 

You are the Count of Lara, but your 
deeds 

Would make the statues of your ances- 
tors 

Blush on their tombs ! Is it Castilian 
honor, 

Is it Castilian pride, to steal in here 

Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong ? 

shame ! shame ! shame ! that you, a 

nobleman, 
Should be so little noble in your 

thoughts 
As to send jewels here to win my 

love, 
And think to buy my honor with your 

gold! 

1 have no words to tell you how I scorn 

you ! 

Begone ! The sight of you is hateful 
to me ! 

Begone, I say ! 
Lara. Be calm ; I will not harm you. 
Prec. Because you dare not. 
Lara. I dare anything ! 

Therefore beware ! You are deceived 
in me. 

In this false world, we do not always 
know 

Who are our friends and who our ene- 
mies. 

We all have enemies, and all need 
friends. 

Even you, fair Preciosa, here at court 

Have foes, who seek to wrong you. 
Prec. If to this 

I owe the honor of the present visit, 

You might have spared the coming. 
Having spoken, 

Once more I beg you, leave me to my- 
self. 
Lara. I thought it but a friendly 
part to tell you 

What strange reports are current here 
in town. 

For my own self, I do not credit them ; 

But there are many who, not knowing 
you, 

Will lend a readier ear. 

Prec. There was no need 

That you should take upon yourself 
the duty 

Of telling me these tales. 



Lara. Malicious tongues 

Are ever busy with your name. 

Prec. Alas ! 

I 've no protectors. I am a poor girl, 

Exposed to insults and unfeeling jests. 

They wound me, yet I cannot shield 
myself. 

I give no cause for these reports. I 
live 

Retired ; am visited by none. 

Lara. By none ? 

O, then, indeed, you are much wronged ! 
Prec. How mean you ? 

Lara. Nay, nay ; I will not wound 
your gentle soul 

By the report of idle tales. 
Prec. Speak out ! 

What are these idle tales? You need 
not spare me. 
Lara. I will deal frankly with you. 
Pardon me ; 

This window, as I think, looks toward 
the street, 

And this into the Prado, does it not? 

In yon high house, beyond the garden 
wall, — 

You see the roof there just above the 
trees, — 

There lives a friend, who told me yes- 
terday, 

That on a certain night, — be not of- 
fended 

If I too plainly speak, — he saw a man 

Climb to your chamber window. You 
are silent ! 

I would not blame you, being young 
and fair — 

{He tries to embrace her. She starts 
back, and draws a dagger from 
her bosojn.) 

Prec. Beware ! beware ! I am a 
Gypsy girl ! 
Lay not your hand upon me. One 

step nearer 
And I will strike ! 

Lara. Pray you, put up that dagger. 
Fear not. 

Prec. I do not fear. I have a heart 
In whose strength I can trust. 

Lara. Listen to me. 

I come here as your friend, — I am 

your friend, — 
And by a single word can put a stop 



62 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



To all those idle tales, and make your 

name 
Spotless as lilies are. Here on my 

knees, 
Fair Preciosa ! on my knees I swear, 
I love you even to madness, and that 

love 
Has driven me to break the rules of 

custom, 
And force myself unasked into your 

presence. 

(Victorian enters behind.) 

Prec. Rise, Count of Lara ! That 

is not the place 
For such as you are. It becomes you 

not 
To kneel before me. I am strangely 

moved 
To see one of your rank thus low and 

humbled ; 
For your sake I will put aside all anger, 
All unkind feeling, all dislike, and 

speak 
In gentleness, as most becomes a 

woman, 
And as my heart now prompts me. I 

no more 
Will hate you, for all hate is painful to 

me. 
But if, without offending modesty 
And that reserve which is a woman's 

glory, 
I may speak freely, I will teach my 

heart 
To love you. 

Lara. O sweet angel ! 

Prec. Ay, in truth, 

Far better than you love yourself or me. 
Lara. Give me some sign of this, — 

the slightest token. 
Let me but kiss your hand ! 

Prec. Nay, come no nearer ! 

The words I utter are its sign and 

token. 
Misunderstand me not ! Be not de- 
ceived ! 
The' love wherewith I love you is not 

such 
As you would offer me. For you come 

here 
To take from me the only thing I have, 
My honor. You are wealthy, you have 

friends 



And kindred, and a thousand pleasant 

hopes 
That fill your heart with happiness; 

but I 
Am poor, and friendless, having but one 

treasure, 
And you would take that from me, and 

for what ? 
To flatter your own vanity, and make 

me 
What you would most despise. O sir, 

such love, 
That seeks to harm me, cannot be true 

love. 
Indeed it cannot. But my love for you 
Is of a different kind. It seeks your 

good. 
It is a holier feeling. It rebukes 
Your earthly passion, your unchaste' 

desires, 
And bids you look into your heart, and 

see 
How you do wrong that better nature 

in you, 
And grieve your soul with sin. 

Lara. I swear to you, 

I would not harm you ; I would only 

love you. 
I would not take your honor, but restore 

it, 
And in return I ask but some slight 

mark 
Of your affection. If indeed you love 

me, 
As you confess you do, O let me thus 
With this embrace — 

Vict, {rushing forward). Hold ! hold ! 

This is too much. 
What means this outrage? 

Lara. First, what right have vou 

To question thus a nobleman of Spain ? 

Vict. I too am noble, and you are 

no more ! 
Out of my sight ! 
Lara. Are you the master here? 

Vict. Ay, here and elsewhere, when 

the wrong of others 
Gives me the right ! 
Prec. {to Lara). Go ! I beseech you, 

go ! 
Vict. I shall have business with you, 

Count, anon ! 
Lara. You cannot come too soon ! 

[Exit 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



63 



Prec. Victorian ! 

we have been betrayed ! 

Vict. Ha ! ha ! betrayed ! 

'T is I have been betrayed, not we ! — 
not we ! 
Prec. Dost thou imagine — 
Vict. I imagine nothing ; 

1 see how 't is thou whilest the time away 
When I am gone ! 

Prec. O speak not in that tone ! 

It wounds me deeply. 

Vict. 'T was not meant to flatter. 

Prec. Too well thou knowest the 
presence of that man 
Is hateful to me ! 

Vict. Yet I saw thee stand 

And listen to him, when he told his love. 

Prec. I did not heed his words. 

Vict. Indeed thou didst, 

And answeredst them with love. 

Prec. Hadst thou heard all — 

Vict. I heard enough. 

Prec. Be not so angry with me. 

Vict. I am not angry ; I am very calm. 

Prec. If thou wilt let me speak — 

Vict. Nay, say no more. 

I know too much already. Thou art 

false ! 
I do not like these Gypsy marriages ! 
Where is the ring I gave thee ? 

Prec. In my casket. 

Vict. There let it rest ! I would not 
have thee wear it : 
I thought thee spotless, and thou art 
polluted ! 

Prec. I call the Heavens to witness — 

Vict. Nay, nay, nay ! 

Take not the name of Heaven upon thy 

lips ! 
They are forsworn ! 

Prec. Victorian ! dear Victorian ! 

Vict. I gave up all for thee ; myself, 
my fame, 
My hopes of fortune, ay, my very soul ! 
And thou hast been my ruin ! Now, go 

on ! 
Laugh at my folly with thy paramour, 
And, sitting on the Count of Lara's knee, 
Say what a poor, fond fool Victorian 
was ! 

(He casts her from him and rushes out.) 

Prec. And this from thee ! 

{Scene closes.) 



Scene V. — The Count of Lara's 
rooms. Enter the Count. 

Lara. There 's nothing in this world 

so sweet as love, 
And next to love the sweetest thing is 

hate ! 
I 've learned to hate, and therefore am 

revenged. 
A silly girl to play the prude with me ! 
The fire that I have kindled — 

{Enter Francisco.) 

Well, Francisco, 
What tidings from Don Juan? 

Fran. Good, my lord ; 

He will be present. 
Lara. And the Duke of Lermos ? 
Fran. Was not at home. 
Lara. How with the rest ? 

Fran. I 've found 

The men you wanted. They will all 

be there, 
And at the given signal raise a whirl- 
wind 
Of such discordant noises, that the dance 
Must cease for lack of music. 

Lara. Bravely done. 

Ah ! little dost thou dream, sweet Pre- 

ciosa, 
What lies in wait for thee. Sleep shall 

not close 
Thine eyes this night ! Give me my 
cloak and sword. \_Esceunt. 

Scene VI. — A retired spot beyond the 
city gates. Enter Victorian and 
Hypolito. 

Vict. O shame ! O shame ! Why do 

I walk abroad 
By daylight, when the very sunshine 

mocks me, 
And voices, and familiar sights and 

sounds 
Cry, "Hide thyself!" O what a thin 

partition 
Doth shut out from the curious world 

the knowledge 
Of evil deeds that have been done in 

darkness ! 
Disgrace has many tongues. My fears 

are windows, 
Through which all eyes seem gazing. 

Every face 



6 4 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



Expresses some suspicion of my shame, 
And in derision seems to smile at me ! 
Hyp. Did I not caution thee ? Did 
I not tell thee 
I was but half persuaded of her virtue ? 
Vict. And yet, Hypolito, we may be 
wrong, 
We may be over-hasty in condemning ! 
The Count of Lara is a cursed villain. 
Hyp. And therefore is she cursed, 

loving him. 
Vict. She does not love him ! 'Tis 

for gold ! for gold ! 
Hyp. Ay, but remember, in the pub- 
lic streets 
He shows a golden ring the Gypsy gave 

him, 
A serpent with a ruby in its mouth. 
Vict. She had that ring from me ! 
God ! she is false ! 
But I will be revenged ! The hour is 

passed. 
Where stays the coward ? 

Hyp. Nay, he is no coward : 

A villain, if thou wilt, but not a coward. 
I 've seen him play with swords ; it is 

his pastime. 
And therefore be not over-confident, 
He '11 task thy skill anon. Look, here 
he comes. 

(Enter Lar a, followed by Francisco.) 

Lara. Good evening, gentlemen. 
Hyp. Good evening, Count. 

Lara. I trust I have not kept you 

long in waiting. 
Vict. Not long, and yet too long. 

Are you prepared ? 
Lara. I am. 

Hyp. It grieves me much to 

see this quarrel 
Between you, gentlemen. Is there no 

way 
Left open to accord this difference, 
But you must make one with your 
swords ? 
Vict. No ! none ! 

I do entreat thee, dear Hypolito, 
Stand not between me and my foe. 

Too long 
Our tongues have spoken. Let these 

tongues of steel 
End our debate. Upon your guard, Sir 
Count ! 



(TJiey fight. Victorian disar?ns the 
Count.) 

Your life is mine ; and what shall now 

withhold me 
From sending your vile soul to its ac- 
count ? 
Lara. Strike ! strike ! 
Vict. You are disarmed. I will not 
kill you. 
I will not murder you. Take up your 
sword. 

(Francisco hands the Count his 
sword, and Hypolito interposes.) 

Hyp. Enough ! Let it end here ! 

The Count of Lara 
Has shown himself a brave man, and 

Victorian 
A generous one, as ever. Now be 

friends. 
Put up your swords ; for, to speak 

frankly to you, 
Your causeof quarrel istoo slight athing 
To move you to extremes. 

Lara. I am content. 

I sought no quarrel. A few hasty 

words, 
Spoken in the heat of blood, have led 

to this. 
Vict. Nay, somethingmore than that. 
Lara. I understand you. 

Therein I did not mean to cross your 

path. 
To me the door stood open, as to 

others. 
But, had I known the girl belonged to 

you, 
Never would I have sought to win her 

from you. 
The truth stands now revealed ; she 

has been false 
To both of us. 

Vict. Ay, false as hell itself! 

Lara. In truth, I did not seek her; 

she sought me ; 
And told me how to win her, telling me 
The hours when she was oftenest left 

alone. 
Vict. Say, can you prove this to me ? 

O, pluck out 
These awful doubts, that goad me into 

madness ! 
Let me know all ! all ! all ! 
Lara. You shall know all. 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



65 - 



Here is my page, who was the messen- 

Between us. Question him. Was it 

not so, 
Francisco? 
Fran. Ay, my lord. 
Lara. If further proof 

Is needful, I have here a ring she gave 
me. 
Vict. Pray let me see that ring? 
It is the same ! 

( Throws it upon the ground, and 
tramples iipon it.) 

Thus may she perish who once wore 

that ring ! 
Thus do I spurn her from me ; do thus 

trample 
Her memory in the dust ! O Count of 

Lara, 
We both have been abused, been much 

abused ! 
I thank you for your courtesy and 

frankness. 
Though, like the surgeon's hand, yours 

gave me pain, 
Yet it has cured my blindness, and I 

thank you. 
I now can see the folly I have done, 
Though 't is, alas ! too late. So fare 

you well ! 
To-night I leave this hateful town for- 
ever. 
Regard me as your friend. Once more, 

farewell ! 
Hyp. Farewell, Sir Count. 

[Exeunt Victorian and Hypolito. 

Lara. Farewell ! farewell ! farewell ! 
Thus have I cleared the field of my 

worst foe ! 
I have none else to fear ; the fight is 

done, 
The citadel is stormed, the victory won! 
[Exit with Francisco. 

Scene VII. — A lane in the suburbs. 
Night. Enter Cruzado and Bar- 

TOLOME. 

Cruz. And so, Bartolome, the ex- 
pedition failed. But where wast thou 
for the most part ? 

Bart. In the Guadarrama moun- 
tains, near San Ildefonso. 

5 



Cruz. And thou bringest nothing 
back with thee? Didst thou rob no 
one ? 

Bart. There was no one to rob, 
save a party of students from Segovia, 
who looked as if they would rob us ; 
and a jolly little friar, who had nothing 
in his pockets but a missal and a loaf 
of bread. 

Criiz. Pray, then, what brings thee 
back to Madrid? 

Bart. First tell me what keeps thee 
here? 

Cruz. Preciosa. 

Bart. And she brings me back. 
Hast thou forgotten thy promise ? 

Cruz. The two years are not passed 
yet. Wait patiently. The girl shall be 
thine. 

Bart. I hear she has a Busne lover. 

Crtiz. That is nothing. 

Bart. I do not like it. I hate him, 
— the son of a Busne harlot. He goes 
in and out, and speaks with her alone, 
and I must stand aside, and wait his 
pleasure. 

Cruz. Be patient, I say. Thou 
shalt have thy revenge. When the 
time comes, thou shalt waylay him. 

Bart. Meanwhile, show me her 
house. 

Crtcz. Come this way. But thou 
wilt not find her. She dances at the 
play to-night. 

Bart. No matter. Show me the 
house. [Exeunt. 

Scene VIII. — The Theatre. The or- 
chestra plays the cachucha. Soinid 
of castanets behind the scenes. The 
ctir'tain rises, and discovers Precio- 
SA in the attitude of commencijig the 
dance. The cachucha. Tumult; 
hisses; cries of " Bra7ja /" and 
"Afuera ! " She falters and pauses. 
The music stops. General co? fusion. 
~Prkcios a faints. 

Scene IX. — The Count of Lara"s 
chambers. Lara a7id- his friends 
at stepper. 

Lara. So, Caballeros, once more 
many thanks ! 



66 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



You have stood by me bravely in this 

matter. 
Pray fill your glasses. 

Don J. Did you mark, Don Luis, 
How pale she looked, when first the 

noise began, 
And then stood still, with her large 

eyes dilated ! 
Her nostrils spread ! her lips apart ! 

her bosom 
Tumultuous as the sea ! 

Don L. I pitied her. 

Lara. Her pride is humbled ; and 
this very night 
I mean to visit her. 
Don y. Will you serenade her? 

Lara. No music ! no more music ! 
Don L. Why not music ? 

It softens many hearts. 

Lara. Not in the humor 

She now is in. Music would madden 
her. 
Don y. Try golden cymbals. 
Don L. Yes, try Don Dinero ; 

A mighty wooer is your Don Dinero. 
Lara. To tell the truth, then, I have 
bribed her maid. 
But, Caballeros, you dislike this wine. 
A bumper and away ; for the night 

wears. 
A health to Preciosa. 

{They rise and drink.') 

A 11. Preciosa. 

Lara (holding up his glass). Thou 

bright and flaming minister of 

Love ! 
Thou wonderful magician ! who hast 

stolen 
My secret from me, and 'mid sighs of 

passion 
Caught from my lips, with red and fiery 

tongue, 
Her precious name ! O nevermore 

henceforth 
Shall mortal lips press thine ; and nev- 
ermore 
A mortal name be whispered in thine 

• ear. 
Go ! keep my secret ! 

{Drinks and dashes the goblet down.) 
Don y. Ite ! missa est 1 

{Scene closes.) 



Scene X. — Street and garden wall. 
Night. Enter Cruzado and Bar- 
tolome. 

Cruz. This is the garden wall, and 
above it, yonder, is her house. The 
window in which thou seest the light is 
her window. But we will not go in 
now. 

Bart. Why not? 

Cruz. Because she is not at home. 

Bart. No matter; we can wait. 
But how is this? The gate is bolted. 
(Sound of guitars and voices in a 
neighboring street.) Hark ! There 
comes her lover with his infernal sere- 
nade ! Hark ! 

SONG. 

Good night ! Good night, beloved ! 

I come to watch o'er thee ! 
To be near thee, — to be near thee, 

Alone is peace for me. 

Thine eyes are stars of morning, 
Thy lips are crimson flowers ! 

Good night ! Good night, beloved, 
While I count the weary hours. 

Cruz. They are not coming this way. 
Bart. Wait, they begin again. 

SONG (coming ?iearer). 

Ah ! thou moon that shinest 

Argent-clear above ! 
All night long enlighten 

My sweet lady-love ! 

Moon that shinest, 
All night long enlighten ! 



nm, 



if he 



comes 



Bart. Woe be to 

this way ! 
Cruz. Be quiet, they are passing down 

the street. 

SONG (dying away). 

The nuns in the cloister 

Sang to each other ; 
For so many sisters 

Is there not one brother ! 
Ay, for the partridge, mother ! 

The cat has run away with the par- 
tridge ! 
Puss ! puss ! puss ! 

Bart. Follow that ! follow that ! 
Come with me. Puss ! puss ! 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



67 



{Exeunt. On the opposite side enter 
the Count of Lara and gentlemen, 
with Francisco.) 

Lara. The gate is fast. Over the 

wall, Francisco, 
And draw the bolt. There, so, and so, 

and over. 
Now, gentlemen, come in, and help me 

scale 
Yon balcony. How now? Her light 

still burns. 
Move warily. Make fast the gate, 

Francisco. 

{Exeunt. Re-enter Cruzado and 
Bartolome.) 

Bart. They went in at the gate. 
Hark ! I hear them in the garden. 
{Tries the gate.) Bolted again ! 
Vive Cristo ! Follow me over the wall. 

{They climb the wall.) 

Scene XI. — Preciosa's bedchamber. 
Midnight. She is sleeping in an 
arm-chair, in an undress. Do- 
lores watching her. 

Dol. She sleeps at last I 

{Opens the window and listens?) 

All silent in the street, 
And in the garden. Hark ! 

Prec. {in her sleep). I must go 
hence ! 
Give me my cloak ! 
Dol. He comes! I hear his footsteps ! 
Prec. Go tell them that I cannot 
dance to-night ; 
I am too ill ! Look at me ! See the 

fever 
That burns upon my cheek ! I must 

go hence. 
I am too weak to dance. 

{Signal from the garden?) 

Dol. {from the window). Who's 

there ? 
Voice {from below). A friend. 
Dol. I will undo the door. Wait 

till I come. 
Prec. I must go hence. I pray you 

do not harm me ! 
Shame ! shame ! to treat a feeble woman 

thus ! 



Be you but kind, I will do all things for 
you. 

I 'm ready now, — give me my casta- 
nets. 

Where is Victorian ? Oh, those hateful 
lamps ! 

They glare upon me like an evil eye. 

I cannot stay. Hark ! how they mock 
at me I 

They hiss at me like serpents ! Save 
me ! save me ! 

{She wakes.) 

How late is it, Dolores ? 
Dol. It is midnight. 

Prec. We must be patient. Smooth 
this pillow for me. 

{She sleeps again. Noise from the 
garden, and voices.) 

Voice. Muera ! 

A nother Voice. O villains ! villains ! 

Lara. So ! have at you ! 

Voice. Take that ! 
Lara. O, I am wounded ! 

Dol. {shutting the window). Jesu 
Maria ! 

ACT III. 

Scene I. — A cross-road through a 
wood. In the backgro7ind a distant 
village spire. Victorian and Hy- 
p~ olito, as travelling students, with 
guitars, sitting under the trees. 
Hypolito plays and sings. 

SONG. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Enemy 
Of all that mankind may not rue ! 

Most untrue 
To him who keeps most faith with thee. 

Woe is me ! 
The falcon has the eyes of the dove. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Vict. Yes, Love is ever busy with his 

shuttle, 
Is ever weaving into life's dull warp 
Bright, gorgeous flowers and scenes 

Arcadian ; 
Hanging our gloomy prison-house about 




68 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



With tapestries, that make its walls 

dilate 
In never-ending vistas of delight. 
Hyp. Thinking to walk in those A^ 

cadian pastures, 
Thou hast run thy noble head against 

the wall. 

song (continued). 

Thy deceits 
Give us clearly to comprehend, 

Whither tend 
All thy pleasures, all thy sweets ! 

They are cheats, 
Thorns below and flowers above. 

Ah, Love ! 
Perjured, false, treacherous Love ! 

Vict. A very pretty song. I thank 

thee for it. 
Hyp. It suits thy case. 
Vict. Indeed, I think it does. 

What wise man wrote it ? 

Hyp. Lopez Maldonado. 

Vict. In truth, a pretty song. 
Hyp. With much truth in it. 

I hope thou wilt profit by it ; and in 

earnest 
Try to forget this lady of thy love. 
Vict. I will forget her ! All dear 
recollections 
Pressed in my heart, like flowers within 

a book, 
Shall be torn out, and scattered to the 

winds ! 
I will forget her ! But perhaps hereafter, 
When she shall learn how heartless is 

the world, 
A voice within her will repeat my name, 
And she will sav, " He was indeed mv 

friend ! "' 
O, would I were a soldier, not a scholar, 
That the loud march, the deafening beat 

of drums, 
The shattering blast of the brass-throat- 
ed trumpet, 
The din of arms, the onslaught and the 

storm, 
And a swift death, might make me deat 

forever 
To the upbraidings of this foolish heart ! 
Hyp. Then let that foolish heart up- 
braid no more ! 
To conquer love, one need but will to 
conquer. 



Vict. Yet, good Hypolito, it is in vain 
I throw into Oblivion's sea the sword 
That pierces me ; for, like Excalibar, 
With gemmed and flashing hilt, it will 

not sink. 
There rises from below a hand that 

grasps it, 
And waves it in the air; and wailing 

voices 
Are heard along the shore. 

Hyp. And yet at last 

Down sank Excalibar to rise no more. 
This is not well. In truth, it vexes me. 
Instead of whistling to the steeds of 

Time, 
To make them jog on merrily with 

life's burden, 
Like a dead weight thou hangest on 

the wheels. 
Thou art too young, too full of lusty 

health 
To talk of dying. 

/ id. Yet I fain would die ! 

To go through life, unloving and un- 
loved ; 
To feel that thirst and hunger of the 

soul 
We cannot still ; that longing, that 

wild impulse, 
And struggle after something we have 

not 
And cannot have ; the effort to be 

strong ; 
And, like the Spartan boy, to smile, 

and smile, 
While secret wounds do bleed beneath 

our cloaks ; 
All this the dead feel not, — the dead 

alone ! 
Would I were with them ! 

Hyp. We shall all be soon. 

/ 'id. It cannot be too soon ; for I 

am weary 
Of the bewildering masquerade of Life, 
Where strangers walk as friends, and 

friends as strangers ; 
Where whispers overheard betray false 

hearts ; 
And through the mazes of the crowd 

wc chase 
Some form of loveliness, that smiles, 

and beckons, 
And cheats us with fair words, only to 

leave us 




THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



69 



A mockery and a jest ; maddened, — 

confused, — 
Not knowing friend from foe. 

Hyp. Why seek to know ? 

Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy 

youth ! 
Take each fair mask for what it gives 

itself, 
Nor strive to look beneath it. 

Vict. I confess, 

That were the wiser part. But Hope 

no longer 
Comforts my soul. I am a wretched 

man, 
Much like a poor and shipwrecked mar- 
iner, 
Who, struggling to climb up into the 

boat, 
Has both his bruised and bleeding 

hands cut off, 
And sinks again into the weltering sea, 
Helpless and hopeless ! 

Hyp. Yet thou shalt not perish. 

The strength of thine own arm is thy 

salvation. 
Above thy head, through rifted clouds, 

there shines 
A glorious star. Be patient. Trust 

thy star ! 

{Sound of a village bell hi the distance. ) 

Vict. Ave Maria ! I hear the sac- 
ristan ' 

Ringing the chimes from yonder village 
belfry ! 

A solemn sound, that echoes far and 
wide 

Over the red roofs of the cottages, 

And bids the laboring hind a-field, the 
shepherd, 

Guarding his flock, the lonely mulet- 
eer, 

And all the crowd in village streets, 
stand still, 

And breathe a prayer unto the blessed 
Virgin ! 
Hyp. Amen ! amen ! Not half a 
league from hence 

The village lies. 

Vict. This path will lead us to it, 

Over the wheat-fields, where the shad- 
ows sail 

Across the running sea, now green, now 
blue, 



And, like an idle mariner on the main, 
Whistles the quail. Come, let us has- 
ten on. [Exeunt. 

Scene II. — Public sqtcare in the vil- 
lage of Guadarrama. The A ve Ma- 
ria still tolling. A crowd of villa- 
gers, with their hats in their hands, 
as if in prayer. In front, a grottp 
of Gypsies. The bell rings a merrier 
peal. A Gypsy dance. Enter Pan- 
cho, followed by Pedro Crespo. 

Pancho. Make room, ye vagabonds 
and Gypsy thieves ! 

Make room for the Alcalde and for me ! 
Pedro C. Keep silence all ! I have 
an edict here 

From our most gracious lord, the King 
of Spain, 

Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands, 

Which I shall publish in the market- 
place. 

Open your ears and listen ! 

{Enter the Padre Cura at the door 
of his cottage.} 

Padre Cura, 
Good day ! and, pray you, hear this 
edict read. 
Padre C. Good day, and God be 

with you ! Pray, what is it ? 
Pedro C. An act of banishment 
against the Gypsies ! 

{Agitation and murmurs in the 
crowd.} 

Pancho. Silence ! 

Pedro C. {reads). " I hereby order 

and command, 
That the Egyptian and Chaldean 

strangers, 
Known by the name of Gypsies, shall 

henceforth 
Be banished from the realm, as vaga- 
bonds 
And beggars ; and if, after seventy days, 
Any be found within our kingdom's 

bounds, 
They shall receive a hundred lashes 

each ; 
The second time, shall have their ears 

cut off; 
The third, be slaves for life to him who 

takes them, 



7 o 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, the 
King." 

Vile miscreants and creatures unbap- 
tized ! 

You hear the law ! Obey and disap- 
pear ! 
Pancho. And if in seventy days you 
are not gone, 

Dead or alive I make you all my slaves. 

{The Gypsies go out in confusion, 
showing signs of fear a?id discon- 
tent. Pancho follows.) 

Padre C. A righteous law ! A very 
righteous law ! 
Pray you, sit down. 

Pedro C. I thank you heartily. 

{They seat themselves on a be7ich at 
the Padre Cura's door. Sound 
of guitars heard at a distance, 
approaching during tlie dialogue 
•which follows.) 

A very righteous judgment, as you say. 

Now tell me, Padre (Jura, — you know 
all things, — 

How came these Gypsies into Spain ? 
Padre C. W hy, look you : 

They came with Hercules from Pales- 
tine, 

And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir 
Alcalde, 

As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus. 

And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda 
says, 

There are a hundred marks to prove a 
Moor 

Is not a Christian, so 't is with the Gyp- 
sies. 

They never marry, never go to mass, 

Never baptize their children, nor keep 
Lent, 

Nor see the inside of a church, — nor 
— nor — 
Pedro C. Good reasons, good, sub- 
stantial reasons all ! 

No matter for the other ninety-five. 

They should be burnt, I see it plain 
enough, 

They should be burnt. 

{Enter Victorian and Hypolito 
playing.) 

Padre C. And pray, whom have we 
here? 



Pedro C. More vagrants ! By Saint 
Lazarus, more vagrants ! 

Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen ! Is 
this Guadarrama? 

Padre C. Yes, Guadarrama, and 
good evening to you. 

Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura* of 
the village ; 
And, judging from you dress and rever- 
end mien, 
You must be he. 

Padre C. I am. Pray, what 's your 
pleasure ? 

Hyp. We are poor students, travel- 
ling in vacation. 
You know this mark ? 

{Touching the wooden spoon in his 
hat-band.) 

Padre C. {joyfully'). Ay, know it, 

and have worn it. 
Pedro C. {aside). Soup-eaters ! by 

the mass ! The worst of vagrants ! 
And there 's no law against them. Sir, 

your servant. [Exit. 

Padre C. Your servant, Pedro 

Crespo. 
Hyp. Padre Cura, 

From the first moment I beheld your 

face, 

I said within myself, " This is the 

man ! " 
There is a certain something in your 

looks, 
A certain scholar-like and studious 

something, — 
You understand, — which cannot be 

mistaken ; 
Which marks you as a very learned 

man, 
In fine, as one of us. 

Vict, {aside). What impudence ! 
Hyp. As we approached, I said to 

my companion, 

II That is the Padre Cura ; mark my 

words ! " « 

Meaning your Grace. " The otner 
man," said I, 

" Who sits so awkwardly upon the 
bench, 

Must be the sacristan." 

Padre C. Ah ! said you so ? 

Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the al- 
calde ! 



■M 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



7i 



Hyp. Indeed ! you much astonish 
me ! His air 
Was not so full of dignity and grace 
As an alcalde's should be. 

Padre C. That is true. 

He 's out of humor with some vagrant 

Gypsies, 
Who have their camp here in the neigh- 
borhood. 
There's nothing so undignified as an- 
ger. 
Hyp. The Padre Cura will excuse 
our boldness, 
If, from his well-known hospitality, 
We crave a lodging for the night. 

Padre C. I pray you ! 

You do me honor ! I am but too happy 
To have such guests beneath my hum- 
ble roof. 
It is not often that I have occasion 
To speak with scholars ; and Emollit 

■mores, 
Nee sinit esse feros, Cicero says. 
Hyp. 'T is Ovid, is it not ? 
Padre C. No, Cicero. 

Hyp. Your Grace is right. You are 
the better scholar. 
Now what a dunce was I to think it 

Ovid! 

But hang me if it is not ! (Aside.) 

Padre C. Pass this way. 

He was a very great man, was Cicero ! 

Pray you, go in, go in ! no ceremony. 

\_Exeunt. 

Scene III — A room, in the Padre 
Cura's house. Enter the Padre 
and Hypolito. * 

Padre C. So then, Sefior, you come 
from Alcala. 
I am glad to hear it. It was there I 
studied. 
Hyp. And left behind an honored 
name, no doubt. 
How may I call your Grace ? 

Padre C. Geronimo 

De Santillana, at your Honor's service. 
Hyp. Descended from the Marquis 
Santillana ? 
From the distinguished poet ? 

Padre C. From the Marquis, 

Not from the poet. 

Hyp. Why, they were the same. 

Let me embrace you ! O some lucky star 



Has brought me hither ! Yet once 

more ! — once more ! 
Your name is ever green in Alcala, 
And our professor, when we are unruly, 
Will shake his hoary head, and say, 

" Alas ! 
It was not so in Santillana's time ! " 
Padre C. I did not think my name 

remembered there. 
Hyp. More than remembered; it is 

idolized. 
Padre C. Of what professor speak 

you? 
Hyp. Timoneda. 

Padre C. I don't remember any 

Timoneda. 
Hyp. A grave and sombre man, whose 
beetling brow 
O'erhangs the rushing current of his 

speech 
As rocks o'er rivers hang. Have you 
forgotten ? 
Padre C. Indeed, I have. O, those 
were pleasant days, 
Those college days ! I ne'er shall see 

the like ! 
I had not buried then so many hopes ! 
I had not buried then so many friends ! 
I 've turned my back on what was then 

before me ; 
And the bright faces of my young com- 
panions 
Are wrinkled like my own, or are no 

more. 
Do you remember Cueva ? 
Hyp. Cueva? Cueva? 

Padre C. Fool that I am ! He was 
before your time. 
You 're a mere boy, and I am an old 
man. 
Hyp. I should not like to try my 

strength with you. 
Padre C. Well, well. But I forget ; 
you must be hungry. 
Martina! ho! Martina! 'T is my niece. 

(Enter Martina.) 

Hyp. You may be proud of such a 
niece as that. 
I wish I had a niece. Emollit mo- 
res. (Aside.) 
He was a very great man, was Cicero ! 
Your servant, fair Martina. 
Mart. Servant, sir. 



73 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



Padre C. This gentleman is hungry. 
See thou to it. 
Let us have supper. 
Mart. 'T will be ready soon. 

Padre C. And bring a bottle of my 
Val-de-Penas 
Out of the cellar. Stay; I '11 go myself. 
Pray you, Seiior, excuse me. [Exit. 
Hyp. Hist ! Martina ! 

One word with you. Bless me ! what 

handsome eyes ! 
To-day there have been Gypsies in the 

village. 
Is it not so? 

Mart. There have been Gypsies here. 
Hyp. Yes, and they told your fortune. 
Mart, {enibarrassed). Told my for- 
tune ? 
Hyp. Yes, yes ; I know they did. 
Give me your hand. 
I '11 tell you what they said. They 

said, — they said, 
The shepherd boy that loved you was a 

clown, 
And him you should not marry. Was 
it not ? 
Mart, {surprised). How know you 

that ? 
Hyp. O, I know more than that. 

What a soft, little hand ! and then they 

said, 
A cavalier from court, handsome, and 

tall 
And rich, should come one day to mar- 
ry you, 
And you should be a lady. Was it not? 
He has arrived, the handsome cavalier. 

( Tries to kiss her. She runs off. En- 
ter Victorian, with a letter.) 

Vict. The muleteer has come. 
Hyp. So soon ? 

Vict. I found him 

Sitting at supper by the tavern door, 
And, from a pitcher that he held aloft 
His whole arm's length, drinking the 
blood-red wine. 
Hyp. What news from Court ? 
Vict. He brought this letter 

only. {Reads.) 

O cursed perfidy ! Why did I let 
That lying tongue deceive me ! Pre- 

ciosa, 
Sweet Preciosa ! how art thou avenged ! 



Hyp. What news is this, that makes 

thy cheek turn pale, 
And thy hand tremble ? 
Vict. _ O, most infamous ! 

The Count of Lara is a worthless villain I 
Hyp. That is no news, forsooth. 
Vict. He strove in vain 

To steal from me the jewel of my soifl, 
The love of Preciosa. Not succeeding, 
He swore to be revenged ; and set on 

foot 
A plot t6 ruin her, which has succeeded. 
She has been hissed and hooted from 

the stage, 
Her reputation stained by slanderous 

lies 
Too foul to speak of; and, once more 

a beggar, 
She roams a wanderer over God's green 

earth, 
Housing with Gypsies ! 

Hyp. To renew again 

The Age of Gold, and make the shep- 
herd swains 
Desperate with love, like Gasper Gil's 

Diana. 
Redit ct I irgo I 

I 'ict. Dear Hypolito, 

How have I wronged that meek, con- 
fiding heart ! 
I will go seek for her ; and with my 

tears 
Wash out the wrong I 've done her ! 

Hyp. O beware ! 

Act not that folly o'er again. 

I let. Ay, folly, 

Delusion, madness, call it what thou 

wilt, 
I will confess my weakness, — I still 

love her ! 
Still fondly love her ! 

{E?iter the Padre Cur a.) 

Hyp. Tell us. Padre Cura, 

Who are these Gypsies in the neigh- 
borhood ? 
Padre C. Beltran Cruzado and his 

crew. 
Vict. Kind Heaven, 

I thank thee ! She is found ! is found 
again ! 
Hyp. And have they with them a 
pale, beautiful girl, 
Called Preciosa ? 



THE SPANISH STUD EXT. 



73 



Padre C. Ay, a pretty girl. 

The gentleman seems moved. 

Hyp. Yes, moved with hunger, 

He is half famished with this long 
*s journey. 
Padre C. Then, pray you. come this 
way. The supper waits. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — A post-house on tJie read 
to Segovia, not far froi?i the village 
of Guadarrama. E/iier Chispa, 

cracki?ig a whip a7id singing the 
Cachucha. 

Chispa. Halloo ! Don Fulano ! Let 
us have horses, and quickly. Alas, 
poor Chispa ! what a dog's life dost 
thou lead ! I thought, when I left my 
old master Victorian, the student, to 
serve my new master Don Carlos, the 
gentleman, that I, too, should lead the 

z of a gentleman ; should go to bed 

early, and get up late. For when the 

3 cards, what can yon expect 

of the friars ? But, in running away 

from the thunder, I have run into the 

t lightning. Here I am in hot chase 
er my master and his Gypsy girl. 
And a good beginning of the wee ; it is, 
as he said who was hanged on Monday 
morning. 

(Enter Dox Carlos.) 

Don C. Are not the horses readv 
ye 

Chispa. I should think not, for the 
hostler se^ms to be asleep. Ho ! with- 
in there! Horses! horses! horse: 
(He knocks at tJie gate zvith sis whip, 
and e)iier Mosquito, putting o?i his 
jacket.) 

.'esq. Pray, have a little patience. 
I 'm not a musket. 

Chispa. Health and pistareens ! I 'm 

I glad to see you come on dancing, padre ! 
Pray, what 's the news ? 
Mosq. You cannot have fresh horses ; 
because there are none. 

Chispa. Cachiporra ! Throw that 
bone to another dog. Do I look like 
your aunt ? 

Mosq. Xo ; she has a beard. 

Chispa. Go to ! go to ! 

Mosq. Are you from Madrid? 



Chispa. Yes ; ar.d gcir.g to Es:re.~a- 
dura. Get us horses. 

Mosq. What's the news at Court? 

Chispa. Why, the latest news is, :hat 
lam going to set up a coach, and I have 
all eady bought the whip. 

(Strikes him rswid tJie legs.) 

Mosq. Oh ! oh ! you hurt me 

Don C. Enough of this tolly. Let 
us have horses. (Gives money to 
Mosquito.) It is almost dark ; and 
we are in hasee. But tell me, has 
a band of Gypsies passed this way 
lie? 

Mosq. Yes ; and they are still in 
the neighborhood. 

Don C. And where ? 

Mosq. Across the fields yonder, in 
the woods near Guadarrama. {Exit. 

Do?i C. Now this is lucky. 
will visit the Gypsy camp. 

Chispa. Are you not afraid of the 
evil eye? Have you a stag's horn 
with you? 

D071 C. Fear not. We will pass 
the night at the village. 

Chi -pa. And sleep like the Squires 
of Hernan Daza, nine under one 
blanket 

Don C. I hope we may find the 
Preciosa among them. 

Chispa. Among the Squires : 

Don C. Xo ; among the Gypsies, 
blockhead ! 

Chispa. I hope we may ; for we are 
giving ourselves trouble enough on her 
account. Don't you think so ? How- 
ever, there is no catching trout without 
wetting one's trousers. Yonder come 
the horses. {Exeunt. 

Scene V. — The Gypsy camp i?t the 
forest. Night Sr 
at a forge. Others playing cards 
:he fire-light. 

Gypsies (at the forge sing). 

On the top of a mountain I stand, 
With a crown of red gold in my hand, 
V "ildMoorscome troopine .. the lea, 
O how from their fury shall I fiee, r. e e . 

flee? 
O how from their fury shall I fiee ? 
First Gypsy (playing). Down with 



74 



THE SPAXISH STUDENT. 



your John-Dorados, my pigeon. Down 
with your John-Dorados, and let us 
make an end. 

Gypsies (at the forge sing). 

Loud sang the Spanish cavalier, 
And thus his ditty ran : 

God send the Gypsy lassie here, 
And not the Gypsy man. 

First Gypsy (playing). There you 
are in your morocco ! 

Second Gypsy. One more game. 
The Alcalde's doves against the Pa- 
dre Cura's new moon. 

First Gypsy. Have at you, Chirelin. 

Gypsies (at the forge sing). 

At midnight, when the moon began 

To show her silver flame, 
There came to him no Gypsy man, 

The Gypsy lassie came. 

(Enter Beltran Cruzado.) 

Cruz. Come hither, Murcigaileros 
and Rastilleros ; leave work, leave play ; 
listen to your orders for the night. 
(Speaking to the right.) You will get 
you to the village, mark you, by the 
stone cross. 

Gypsies. Ay ! 

Cruz, (to tJte left). And you, by the 
pole with the hermit's head upon it. 

Gypsies. Ay ! 

Cruz. As soon as you see the plan- 
ets are out, in with you, and be busy 
with the ten commandments, under 
the sly, and Saint Martin asleep. 
D' ye hear? 

Gypsies. Ay ! 

Cruz. Keep your lanterns open, and, 
if you see a goblin or a papagayo, take 
to your trampers. Vineyards and Dan- 
cing John is the word. Am I compre- 
hended ? 

Gypsies. Ay ! ay ! 

Cruz. Away, then ! 

(Exeunt severally. Cruzado walks up 
the stage, a 7 id disappears among 
the trees. Enter Preciosa.) 

Prec. How strangely gleams through 
the gigantic trees 
The red light of the forge ! Wild, 
beckoning shadows 



Stalk through the forest, ever and anon 
Rising and bending with the flickering 

flame, 
Then flitting into darkness ! So within 

me 
Strange hopes and fears do beckon to 

each other, 
My brightest hopes giving dark fears a 

being 
As the light does the shadow. Woe is 

me ! 
How still it is about me, and how lonely ! 

(Bartolome rushes in.) 

Bart. Ho ! Preciosa ! 
Prec. O Bartolome' ! 

Thou here ? 

Bart. Lo ! I am here. 

Prec. Whence comest thou ? 

Bart. From the rough ridges of the 
wild Sierra, 
From caverns in the rocks, from hun- 
ger, thirst, 
And fever ! Like a wild wolf to the 

sheepfold 
Come I for thee, my lamb. 

Prec. O touch me not ! 

The Count of Lara's blood is on thy 

hands ! 
The Count of Lara's curse is on thy 

soul ! 
Do not come near me ! Pray, begone 

from here ! 
Thou art in danger ! They have set a 

price 
Upon thy head ! 

Bart. Ay, and I 've wandered long 
Among the mountains ; and for many 

days 
Have seen no human face, save the 

rough swineherd's. 
The wind and rain have been my sole 

companions. 
I shouted to them from the rocks thy 

name, 
And the loud echo sent it back to me, 
Till I grew mad. I could not stay from 

thee, 
And I am here ! Betray me, if thou 
wilt. 
Prec. Betray thee ? I betray thee ? 
Bart. Preciosa ! 

I come for thee I for thee I thus brave 
death 1 



THE SPAXISH STUD EXT, 



75 



Fly with me o'er the borders of this 

real 
Fly with me ! 
Prec. Speak of that no more. I can- 
not. 
I 'm thine no longer. 

Bart. O, recall the time 

When we were children ! how we played 

together, 
How we grew up together; how we 

plighted 
Our hearts unto each other, even in 

childhood ! 
Fulfil thy promise, for the hour has 

come. 
I 'm hunted from the kingdom, like a 

Ai\ 
Fulfil thy promise. 

Prec. 'T was my father's promise, 
Not mine. I never gave my heart to 

thee, 
Nor promised thee my hand ! 

Bart. False tongue of woman ! 

And heart more false ! 

Prec. Nay, listen unto me. 

I will speak frankly. I have never loved 

thee ; 
I cannot love thee. This is not my 

fault, 
It is my destiny. Thou art a man 
Restless and violent. What wouldst 

thou with me, 
A feeble girl, who have not long to live, 
Whose heart is broken ? Seek another 

wife, 
Better than I, and fairer ; and let not 
Thy rash and headlong moods estrange 

her from thee. 
Thou art unhappy in this hopeless 

passion. 
I never sought thy love ; never did 

aught 
To make thee love me. Yet I pity 

thee, 
And most of all I pity thy wild heart, 
That hurries thee to crimes and deeds 

of blood. 
Beware, beware of that. 

Bart. For thy dear sake 

I will be gentle. Thou shalt teach me 

patience. 
Prec. Then take this farewell, and 

depart in peace. 
Thou must not linger here. 



Bart. Come, come with me. 

Prec. Hark ! I hear footsteps. 
Bart. I entreat thee, come ! 

. Prec. Away ! It is in vain. 
Bart. Wilt thou not come ? 

Prec. Never ! 

Bart. Then woe, eternal woe, 

upon thee 

Thou shalt not be another's. Thou 

shalt die. [Exit. 

Prec. All holy angels keep me in this 

he. 

Spirit ofherwho bore me, look upon me ! 

M other of God, the glorified, protect me ! 

Christ and the saints, be merciful unto 

me ! 
Yet why should I fear death ? What is 

it to c 
To leave all disappointment, care, and 

sorrow, 
To leave all falsehood, treachery, and 

unkindness, 
All ignominy, suffering, and despair, 
And be at rest forever ! O dull heart, 
Be of good cheer ! When thou shalt 

cease to beat, 
Then shalt thou cease to sutler and com- 
plain ! 

{Enter Victorian and Hypolito be- 
hind.} 

Vict. 'T is she ! Behold, how beau- 
tiful she stands 
Under the tent-like trees ! 
Hyp. A woodland nymph ! 

Vict. I pray thee, stand aside. 

Leave me. 
Hyp. Be wary. 

Do not betray thyself too soon. 

Vict, (disguising his voice). Hist ! 

Gypsy! 
Prec. (aside, with emotio?i). That 
voice ! that voice from heaven ! 
O speak again ! 
Who is it calls ? 

Vict. A friend. 

Prec. (aside). 'T is he ! 'T is he ! 
I thank thee, Heaven, that thou hasf 

heard my prayer, 
And sent me this protector ! Now be 

strong, 
Be strong, my heart ! I must dissem- 
ble here. 
False friend or true ? 



7 6 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



Vict. A true friend to the true ; 

Fear not ; come hither. So ; can you 
tell fortunes? 
Free. Not in the dark. Come nearer 
to the fire. 
Give me your hand. It is not crossed, 
I see. 
Vict, {jutting a piece of gold into her 

hand). There is the cross. 
Pr Is 't silver? 

Vict. No, 't is p;old. 

Free. There 's a fair lady at the Coui t, 
who loves you, 
And for yourself alone. 

/ id. Fie ! the old stoi 

Tell me a better fortune for my money ; 
this old woman's tale I 
r>, You are passionate ; 

And tiiis same passionate humor in your 

blood 
Has marred your fortune. Yes ; I see 

it now ; 
The line of life is crossed by many marks. 
Shame ! shame ! you have wronged 

the maid who loved you ! 
How could you do it? 

/ 'ict. I never loved a maid ; 

>he I loved was then a maid no more. 
:. How know you that? 
/'; A little bird in the air 

"Whimpered the secret. 

rhcre, take back your cold ! 
Y ir hand is cold, like a deceiver's 

hand I 
There ifl no blessing in its charity ! 
Make her your wife, lor you have been 

abused ; 
And you shall mend your fortunes, 
mending hers. 
Vict, (aside). How like an angel's 
s) he tongue of woman, 

When pleading in another's cause her 

own ! 
That is a pretty rine upon your fin 
Pray give it me. (Tries to take the 
ring.) 
Pt No ; never from mv hand 

Shall that be taken ! 

/ 7 Why, 'tis but a ring. 

I '11 give" it back to you ; or, if 1 keep 

it, 
\\ .11 give you gold to buy you twenty 
( h. 
Prec. Why would you have this ring? 



Vict. A traveller's fancy, 

A whim, and nothing more. I would 

lain keep it 
As a memento of the Gypsy camp 
In Guadarrama, and the fortune-teller 
\\ ho sent me back to wed a widowed 

maid. 
Pray, let me have the ring. 

l'> No, never ! never ! 

I will not part with it, even when I 

die ; 
But bid my nurse fold my pale fingers 

thus, 
That it may not fall from them. 'T is a 

token 
Of a behoved friend, who is no more. 
I 'ict. How? dead? 

Tree. Yes; dead tome; and worse 
than dead. 
He is estranged ! And yet I keep this 

ring. 
I will rise with it from my grave here- 
after, 
To prove to him that I was never faNe. 
Vict, {acid I still, my swelling 
heart ! one moment, still ! 
Why, 't is the lolly of a lovesick girl, 
live it me, or I will say 't is 
mine, 
And that you stoh 

/'> ( ), you will not dare 

utter such a falsehood ! 
/ ict. I not dare ? 

Look in my face, and say if there is 

aught 
I have not dared, I would not dare, for 
tin 

(She rushes into his arms.) 

Tree. 'T is thou ! 't is thou ! Y 
ves ; my heart's elected ! 
Mv dearest-dear Victorian ! my soul's 

heaven ! 
Where hast thou been so long? Why 
didst thou leave me ? 
Vict. Ask me not now, my dearest 
l'reciosa. 
me forget we ever have been parti 
. I ladsl thou i . • — 

.-. I ] ray ihee, do not i hide me ! 
Pnc. I should ha bed I 

among the e G) 

ive me, sweet! for what 
I made thee suffer. 




THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



77 



Think'st thou this heart could feel a 

moment's joy, 
Thou being absent ? O, believe it not ! 
Indeed, since that sad hour I have not 

slept, 
For thinking of the wrong I did to 

thee ! 
Dost thou forgive me ? Say, wilt thou 



forgive me ? 



Ere 



Free. I have forgiven thee. 

those words of anger 
Were in the book of Heaven writ down 

against thee, 
I had forgiven thee. 

Vict. I 'm the veriest fool 

That walks the earth, to have believed 

thee false. 
It was the Count of Lara — 

Prec. That bad man 

Has worked me harm enough. Hast 

thou not heard — 
Vict. I have heard all. And yet 

speak on, speak on ! 
Let me but hear thy voice, and I am 

happy ; 
For every tone, like some sweet incan- 
tation, 
Calls up the buried past to'plead for 

me. 
Speak, my beloved, speak into my heart, 
Whatever fills and agitates thine own. 

{They walk aside.) 

Hyp. All gentle quarrels in the pas- 
toral poets, 

All passionate love scenes in the best 
romances, 

All chaste embraces on the public stage, 

All soft adventures, which the liberal 
stars 

Have winked at, as the natural course 
of things, 

Have been surpassed here by my friend, 
the student, 

And this sweet Gypsy lass, fair Pre- 
ciosa ! 
Prec. Serior Hypolito ! I kiss your 
hand. 

Pray, shall I tell your fortune ? 
Hyp. Not to-night ; 

For, should you treat me as you did 
Victorian, 

And send me back to marry maids for- 
lorn, 



My wedding day would last from now 
till Christmas. 
Chispa {within). What ho ! the Gyp- 
sies, ho ! Beltran Cruzado ! 

Halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! halloo ! 

{Enters booted, with a whip and lan- 
tern.) 
Vict. What now? 

Why such a fearful din ? Hast thou 
been robbed ? 
Chispa. Ay, robbed and murdered ; 
and good evening to you, 
My worthy masters. 

Vict. Speak ; what brings thee here ? 
Chispa {to Preciosa). Good news 
from Court ; good news ! Bel- 
tran Cruzado, 
The Count of the Cales, is not your 

father, 
But your true father has returned to 

Spain 
Laden with wealth. You are no more 
a Gypsy. 
Vict. Strange as a Moorish tale ! 
Chispa. And we have all 

Been drinking at the tavern to your 

health, 
As wells drink in November, when it 
rains. 
Vict. Where is the gentleman ? 
Chispa. As the old song says, 

His body is in Segovia, 
His soul is in Madrid. 

Prec. Is this a dream ? O, if it be a 
dream. 

Let me sleep on, and do not wake me 
yet! 

Repeat thy story ! Say I 'm not de- 
ceived ! 

Say that I do not dream ! I am 
awake ; 

This is the Gypsy camp ; this is Victo- 
rian, 

And this his friend, Hypolito ! Speak ! 
speak ! 

Let me not wake and find it all a dream ! 
Vict. It is a dream, sweet child ! a 
waking dream, 

A blissful certainty, a vision bright 

Of that rare happiness which even on 
earth 

Heaven gives to those it loves. Now 
art thou rich, $ 



7» 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



As thou wast ever beautiful and good ; 
And I am now the beggar. 

Prec. {giving him Iter hand). I 

have still 
A hand to give. 

Chispa {aside). And I have two to 

take. 
I 've heard my grandmother say, that 

Heaven gives almonds 
To those who have no teeth. That 's 

nuts to crack. 
I 've teeth to spare, but where shall I 

find almonds? 
Vict. What more of this strange 

story? 
Chispa. Nothing more. 

Your friend, Don Carlos, is now at the 

village 
Showing to Pedro Crespo, the Alcalde, 
The proofs of what I tell you. The old 

hag, 
Who stole you in your childhood, has 

confessed ; 
And probably they '11 hang her for the 

crime, 
To make the celebration more complete. 
Vict. No ; let it be a day of general 

joy; 
Fortune comes well to all, that comes 

not late. 
Now let us join Don Carlos. 

Hyp. So farewell, 

The student's wandering life ! Sweet 

serenades, 
Sung under ladies' windows in the 

night, 
And all that makes vacation beautiful ! 
To you, ye cloistered shades of Alcala, 
To you, ye radiant visions of romance, 
Written in books, but here surpassed bv 

truth, 
The Bachelor Hypolito returns, 
And leaves the Gypsy with the Spanish 

Student. 

Scene VI. — A pass in the Guadar- 
rama ^nouutains. Early morn- 
ing. A muleteer crosses the stage, 
sitting sideways on his mule, and 
lighting a paper cigar with flint 
and steel. 

SONG. 

If thou art sleeping, maiden, 
Awake and open thy door, 



'T is the break of day, and we must 
away, 
O'er meadow, and mount, and moor. 

Wait not to find thy slippers, 
But come with thy naked feet ; 

We shall have to pass through the 
dewy grass, 
And waters wide and fleet. 

{Disappears down the pass. Enter a 
Monk. A Shepherd appears on the 
rocks above.) 

Monk. Ave Maria, gratia plena. 
Ola ! good man ! 

Shcf>. Ola! 

Monk. Is this the road to Segovia? 

Shep. It is, your reverence. 

Monk. How far is it ? 

Shep. I do not know. 

Monk. What is that yonder in the 
valley? 

Shep. San Ildefonso. 

Monk. A long way to breakfast. 

Shep. Ay, many. 

Monk. Are there robbers in these 
mountains? 

Shop. Yes, and worse than that. 

Monk. What? 

Shep. Wolves. 

Monk. Santa Maria ! Come with 
me to S.m Ildefonso, and thou shalt be 
well rewarded. 

Ship. What will thou give me? 

Monk. An Agnus Dei and my ben- 
ediction. 

{They disappear. A mounted Con- 
trabandista passes, wrapped in his 
cloak, and a gun at his saddle-bow. 
He goes down the pass singing.) 

SONG. 

Worn with speed is my good steed, 
\n>l I march me hurried, worried ; 
Onward, caballito mio. 
With the white star in thy forehead 1 
Onward, for here comes the Ronda, 
And I hear their rifles crack ! 
Ay, jal^o ! Ay, ay, jaleo ! 
Ay, jateo ! They cross our track. 

{Song dies away. Enter PrecTOSA, 
on horseback, attended by Victori- 
an, Hypolito, Don ( . and 
Chispa, on/oot, and armed.) 



THE SPANISH STUDENT. 



79 



Vict. This is the highest point. 
Here let us rest. 
See, Preciosa, see how all about us 
Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty 

mountains 
Receive the benediction of the sun ! 
O glorious sight ! 
Prec. Most beautiful indeed ! 

Hyp. Most wonderful ! 
Vict. And in the vale below, 

Where yonder steeples flash like lifted 

halberds, 
San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries, 
Sends up a salutation to the morn, 
As if an army smote their brazen shields, 
And shouted victory ! 

Prec. And which way lies 

Segovia? 

Vict. At a great distance yonder. 
Dost thou not see it ? 
Prec. No. I do not see it. 

Vict. The merest flaw that dents the 
horizon's edge. 
There, yonder ! 

Hyp. 'Tis a notable old town, 

Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct, 
And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors, 
Wherein, you may remember, poor Gil 

Bias 
Was fed on Pan del Rey. O, many a 

time 
Out of its grated windows have I looked 
Hundreds of feet plumb down to the 

Eresma, 
That, like a serpent through the valley 

creeping, 
Glides at its foot. 

Prec. O yes ! I see it now, 

Yet rather with my heart than with mine 

eyes, 
So faint it is. And, all my thoughts 

sail thither, 
Freighted with prayers and hopes, and 

forward urged 
Against all stress of accident, as in 
The Eastern Tale, against the wind 

and tide 
Great ships were drawn to the Magnetic 

Mountains, 
And there were wrecked, and perished 
in the sea ! {She weeps.) 
Vict. O gentle spirit ! Thou didst 
bear unmoved 



Blasts of adversity and frosts of fate ! 
But the first ray of sunshine that falls 

' on thee 
Melts thee to tears ! O, let thy weary 

heart 
Lean upon mine ! and it shall faint no 

more, 
Nor thirst, nor hunger ; but be comforted 
And filled with my affection. 

Prec. Stay no longer ! 

My father waits. Methinks I see him 

there, 
Now looking from the window, and now 

watching 
Each sound of wheels or footfall in the 

street, 
And saying, "Hark! She comes!" 

O father ! father ! 

{They descend the pass. Chispa re- 
mains behind?) 

Chisp. I have a father, too, but he is a 
dead one. Alas and alack-a-day ! Poor 
was I born, and poor do I remain. I nei- 
ther win nor lose. Thus I wag through 
the world, half the time on foot, and 
the other half walking: and always as 
merry as a thunder-storm in the night. 
And so we plough along, as the fly said 
to the ox. Who knows what may hap- 
pen? Patience, and shuffle the cards ! 
I am not yet so bald that you can see 
my brains ; and perhaps, after all, I 
shall some day go to Rome, and come 
back Saint Peter. Benedicite ! [Exit. 

{A pause. Then enter Bartolome 
wildly, as if in pursuit, with a car- 
bine in his hand?) 

Bart. They passed this way ! I hear 

their horses' hoofs ! 
Yonder I see them ! Come, sweet car- 

amillo, 
This serenade shall be the Gypsy's last ! 

{Fires down the pass.) 

Ha ! ha ! Well whistled, my sweet 

caramillo ! 
Well whistled ! — I have missed her ! 

— O my God ! 

{The shot is returned. Bartolome 
falls.) 



A 



8o 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, ETC. 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

AND OTHER POEMS. 



1845. 



CARILLON. 

In the ancient town of Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city. 
As the evening shades descended, 
Low and loud and sweetly blended, 
Low at times and loud at times, 
And changing like a poet's rhymes, 
Rang the beautiful wild chimes 
From the Belfry in the market 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 

Then, with deep sonorous clangor 
Calmly answering their sweet anger. 
When the wrangling bells had ended, 
Slowly struck the clock eleven, 
And, from out the silent hea\ 
Silence on the town descended. 
Silence, silence everywhere, 
On the earth and in the air, 

e that footsteps here and there 
Of some burgher home returning, 
By the street lamps faintly burning, 
For a moment woke the echoes 

the ancient town of Bruges. 

But amid my broken slumbers 
Still I heard those magic numbers, 
As they loud proclaimed the flight 
And stolen marches of the night ; 
Till their chimes in sweet collision 
Mingled with each wandering vision, 
Mingled with the fortune-telling 
Gypsy-bands of dreams and fancies, 
Which amid the waste expanses 
Of the silent land of trances 
Have their solitary dwelling ; 
All else seemed asleep in Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city. 



And I thought how like these chimes 
Are the poet's airy rhymes, 
All his rhymes and roundelays, 
His conceits, and songs, and ditties, 
From the belfry of his brain. 
Scattered downward, though in vain, 
On the roofs and stones of cities ! 
For by night the drowsy ear 
Under its curtains cannot hear, 
And by day men go their ways, 
Hearing the music as they pass, 
But deeming it no more, alas ! 
Than the hollow sound of brass. 

Yet perchance a sleepless wight, 

Lodging at some humble inn 

In the narrow lanes of li 

When the dusk and hush of night 

Shut out the incessant din 

Of daylight and its toil and strife, 

May listen with a calm delight 

1 he poet's melodies, 
Till he hears, or dreams he hears, 
Intermingled with the son.'. 
Thoughts that he has cherished long; 
Hears amid the chime and singing 
The bells of his own village ringing, 
And wakes, and finds his slumberous 

eyes 
Wet with most delicious tears. 

Thus dreamed I, as by night T lay 
In Bruges, at the Fleur-de Bl£, 
Listening with a wild delight 
To the chimes that, through the night, 
Rang their changes from the Belfry 
Of that quaint old Flemish city. 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. 

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown ; 
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o'er the town. 

As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood. 
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood. 




A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. 81 

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray, 
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay. 

At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there, 
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air. 

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour, 
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower. 

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high ; 
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky. 

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times, 
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes, 

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir; 
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar. 

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain ; 
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again ; 

All the Foresters of Flanders, — mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, 
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy, Philip, Guy de Dampierre. 

I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old ; 

Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of Gold ; 

Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies; 
Ministers from twenty nations ; more than royal pomp and ease. 

I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground; 
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound ; 

And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen, 
And the armed guard around them, arid the sword unsheathed between. 

I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold, 
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold; 

Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west, 
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon's nest. 

And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote ; 
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin's throat ; 

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand, 
" I am Roland ! I am Roland ! there is victory in the land ! " 

Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city's roar 
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more. 

Hours had passed away like minutes ; and, before I was aware, 
Lo ! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square. 









MISCELLANEOUS. 



A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. 

This is the place. Stand still, my 
steed, 
Let me review the scene, 
And summon from the shadowy Past 
The forms that once have been. 

6 



The Past and Present here unite 
Beneath Time's flowing tide, 

Like footprints hidden by a brook, 
But seen on either side. 

Here runs the highway to the town ; 
There the green lane descends, 



8a 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, ETC. 



Through which I walked to church with 
thee, 
O gentlest of my friends ! 

The shadow of the linden-trees 

Lay moving on the grass ; 
Between them and the moving boughs, 

A shadow, thou didst pass. 

Thy dress was like the lilies, 
And thy heart as pure as they : 

One of God's holy messengers 
Did walk with me that day. 

I saw the branches of the trees 
Bend down thy touch to meet, 

The clover-blossoms in the grass 
Rise up to kiss thy feet. 

" Sleep, sleep to-dav, tormenting cares, 

Of earth and folly born ! " 
Solemnly sang the village choir 

On that sweet Sabbath morn. 

Through the closed blincUthe goldensun 

Poured in a dusty beam, 
Like the celestial ladder seen 

By Jacob in his dream. 

And ever and anon, the wind, 
Sweet-scented with the hay, 

Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering 
leaves 
That on the window lay. 

Long was the good man's sermon, 
Vet it seemed not so to me ; 

For he spake of Ruth the beautiful, 
And still I thought of thee. 

Long was the prayer he uttered, 
Yet it seemed not so to me ; 

For in my heart I prayed with him, 
And still I thought of thee. 

But now, alas! the place seems changed; 

Thou art no longer here : 
Part of the sunshine of the scene 

With thee did disappear. 

Though thoughts, deep-rooted in my 
heart, 

Like pine-trees dark and high, 
Subdue the light of noon, and breathe 

A low and ceaseless sigh ; 

This memory brightens o'er the past, 
As when the sun, concealed 

Behind some cloud that near us hangs, 
Shines on a distant field. 



THE ARSENAL AT SPRING- 
FIELD. 

This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceil- 
ing, 
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished 
aims ; 
But from their silent pipes no anthem 
pealing 
.Startles the villages with strange 
alarms. 

Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild 
and dreary, 
When the death-angel touches those 
swift keys ! 
What loud lament and dismal Miserere 
Will mingle with their awful sym- 
phonies ! 

I hear even nowthe infinite fierce chorus, 
The cries of agony, the endless groan, 

Which, through the ages that have gone 
before us, 
In long reverberations reach our own. 

On helm and harness rings the Saxon 
hammer, 
Through (Jimbric forest roars the 
Norseman's song, 
And loud, amid the universal clamor, 
O'er distant deserts sounds the Tar- 
tar gong. 

I hear the Florentine, who from his 
palace 
Wheels out his battle-bell with dread- 
ful din, 
And Aztec priests upon their teocallis 
Beat the wild war-drums made of 
serpent's skin ; 

The tumult of each sacked and burning 
village ; 
The shout that every prayer for mercy 
drowns ; 
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pil- 
lage ; 
The wail of famine in beleaguered 
towns ; 

The bursting shell, the gateway 
wrenched asunder, 
The rattling musketry, the clashing 
blade ; 
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder, 
The diapason of the cannonade. 



...... 



NUREMBERG. 



83 



Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, 

With such accursed instruments as 

these, 

Thou drownest Nature's sweet and 

kindly voices, 

And jarrest the celestial harmonies? 

Were half the power, that fills the world 
with terror, 
Were half the wealth, bestowed on 
camps and courts, 
Given to redeem the human mind from 
error, 
There were no need of arsenals or 
forts : 

The warrior's name would be a name 
abhorred ! 
And every nation, that should lift 
again 



Its hand against a brother, on its fore- 
head 
Would wear forevermore the curse of 
Cain ! 

Down the dark future, through long 
generations, 
The echoing sounds grow fainter and 
then cease ; 
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet 
vibrations, 
I hear once more the voice of Christ 
say, " Peace ! " 

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen 
portals 
The blast of War's great organ shakes 
the skies ! 
But beautiful as songs of the immortals, 
The holy melodies of love arise. 




NUREMBERG. 

In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands 

Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands. 

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old town of art and song, 
Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the rooks that round them throng 

Memories of the Middle Ages, when the emperors, rough and bold, 
Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying, centuries old ; 

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in their uncouth rhyme, 
That their great imperial city stretched its hand through every clime. 

In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many an iron band, 
Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen Cunigunde's hand ; 

On the square the oriel window, where in old heroic days 
Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximilian's praise. 

Everywhere I see around me rise the wondrous world of Art : 
Fountains wrought with richest sculpture standing in the common mart ; 

And above cathedral doorways saints and bishops carved in stone, 
By a former age commissioned as apostles to our own. 

In the church of sainted Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy dust, 

And in bronze the Twelve Apostles guard from age to age their trust ; 

In the church of sainted Lawrence stands a pix of sculpture rare, 
Like the foamy sheaf of fountains, rising through the painted air. 

Here, when Art was still religion, with a simple, reverent heart, 
Lived and labored Albrecht Diirer, the Evangelist of Art ; 

Hence in silence and in sorrow, toiling still with busy hand, 
Like an emigrant he wandered, seeking for the Better Land. 



84 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, ETC. 



Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies ; 
Dead he is not, but departed, — for the artist never dies. 

Fairer seems the ancient city, and the sunshine seems more fair, 
That he once has trod its pavement, that he once has breathed its air ! 

Through these streets so broad and stately, these obscure and dismal lanes, 
Walked of yore the Mastersingers, chanting rude poetic strains. 

From remote and sunless suburbs came they to the friendly guild, 
Building nests in Fame's great temple, as in spouts" the swallows build. 

As the weaver plied the shuttle, wove he too the mystic rhyme, 
And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime ; 

Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom 
In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom. 

Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle craft, 
Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed. 

But his house is now an alehouse, with a nicely sanded floor, 
And a garland in the window, and his face above the door; 

Painted by some humble artist, as in Adam Puschman's song, 

As the old man gray and dove-like, with his great beard white and long. 

And at night the swart mechanic comes to drown his cark and care, 
Quaffing ale from pewter tankards, in the master's antique chair. 

Vanished is the ancient splendor, and before my dreamy eye 
Wave these mingling shapes and figures, like a faded tapestry. 

Not thy Councils, not thy Kaisers, win for thee the world's regard ; 
But thy painter, Albrecht Diirer, and Hans Sachs thy cobbler-bard. 

Thus, O Nuremberg, a wanderer from a region far away, 

As he paced thy streets and court-yards, sang in thought his careless lay : 

Gathering from the pavement's crevice, as a floweret of the soil, 
The nobility of labor, — the long pedigree of toil. 



THE NORMAN BARON.. 

Dans les moments fie la vio nil la reflexion rievient plus cnlmc et plus profonrle, ou 
Tinteret t-t l'avnrice parlent moinfl haut que la ration, dani let Instants de chagrin domesr 
tique, de maladie, ft de peril de mort, les nobles se repentirent de posseder des serfs, 
coimne d'une chose peu agreable ii Dieu, qui avait crefi tons les homines :i son Imape. 

Thikbbt, Cotiquite de VAngUier 

In his chamber, weak and dying, 
Was the Norman baron lying ; 
Loud, without, the tempest thundered, 
And the castle-turret shook. 



tcrre. 



In this fight was Death the gainer, 
Spite of vassal and retainer, 
And the lands his sires had plundered, 
Written in the Doomsday Book. 



By his bed a monk was seated, 
Who ill humble voice repeated 
Many a prayer and pnter-noster, 
From the missal on his knee ; 

And, amid the tempest pealing. 
Sounds of bells came faintly stealing, 
Bells, that from the neighboring kloster, 
Rang for the Nativity. 



RAIN IN SUMMER. 



85 



In the hall, the serf and vassal 
Held, that night, their Christmas was- 
sail ; 
Many a carol, old and saintly, 

Sang the minstrels and the waits ; 

And so loud these Saxon gleemen 
Sang to slaves the songs of freemen, 
That the storm was heard but faintly, 
Knocking at the castle-gates. 

Till at length the lays they chanted 
Reached the chamber terror-haunted, 
Where the monk, with accents holy, 
Whispered at the baron's ear. 

Tears upon his eyelids glistened, 
As he paused awhile and listened, 
And the dying baron slowly 

Turned his weary head to hear. 

" Wassail for the kingly stranger 
Born and cradled in a manger ! 
King, like David, priest, like Aaron, 
Christ is born to set us free ! " 

And the lightning showed the sainted 
Figures on the casement painted, 
And exclaimed the shuddering baron, 
" Miserere, Domine ! " 

In that hour of deep contrition 
He beheld, with clearer vision, 
Through all outward show and fashion, 
Justice, the Avenger, rise. 

All the pomp of earth had vanished, 
Falsehood and deceit were banished, 
Reason spake more loud than passion, 
And the truth wore no disguise. 

Every vassal of his banner, 
Every serf born to his manor, 
All those wronged and wretched crea- 
tures, 
By his hand were freed again. 

And, as on the sacred missal 
He recorded their dismissal, 
Death relaxed his iron features, 

And the monk replied, " Amen ! " 

Many centuries have been numbered 
Since in death the baron slumbered 
By the convent's sculptured portal, 
Mingling with the common dust : 

But the good deed, through the ages 
Living in historic pages, 
Brighter grows and gleams immortal, 
Unconsumed by moth or rust. 



RAIN IN SUMMER. 

How beautiful is the rain ! 

After the dust and heat, 

In the broad and fiery street, 

In the narrow lane, 

How beautiful is the rain ! 

How it clatters along the roofs, 
Like the tramp of hoofs ! 
How it gushes and struggles out 
From the throat of theoverflowingspout 1 

Across the window pane 

It pours and pours ; 

And swift and wide, 

With a muddy tide, 

Like a river down the gutter roars 

The rain, the welcome rain ! 

The sick man from his chamber looks 

At the twisted brooks ; 

He can feel the cool 

Breath of each little pool ; 

His fevered brain 

Grows calm again, 

And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 

From the neighboring school 

Come the boys, 

With more than their wonted noise 

And commotion ; 

And down the wet streets 

Sail their mimic fleets, 

Till the treacherous pool 

Ingulfs them in its whirling 

And turbulent ocean. 

In the country, on every side, 

Where far and wide, 

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted 

hide, 
Stretches the plain, 
To the dry grass and the drier grain 
How welcome is the rain ! 

In the furrowed land 

The toilsome and patient oxen stand ; 

Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, 

With their dilated nostrils spread, 

They silently inhale 

The clover-scented gale, 

And the vapors that arise 

From the well watered and smoking 

soil. 
For this rest in the furrow after toil 
Their large and lustrous eyes 



86 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, ETC. 



Seem to thank the Lord, 
More than man's spoken word. 

Near at hand, 

From under the sheltering trees, 

The farmer sees 

His pastures, and his fields of grain, 

As they bend their tops 

To the numberless beating drops 

Of the incessant rain. 

He counts it as no sin 

That he sees therein 

Only his own thrift and gain. 

These, and far more than these, 

The Poet sees ! 

He can behold 

Aquarius old 

Walking the fenceless fields of air; 

And from each ample fold 

Of the clouds about him rolled 

Scattering everywhere 

The showery rain, 

As the farmer scatters his grain. 

He can behold 

Things manifold 

That have not yet been wholly told, — 

Have not been wholly sung nor said. 

For his thought, that never stops, 

Follows the water-drops 

Down to the graves of the dead, 

Down through chasms and gulfs pro- 

-found, 
To the dreary fountain-head 
Of lakes and rivers under ground ; 
And sees them, when the rain is done, 
On the bridge of colors seven 
Climbing up once more to heaven, 
Opposite the setting sun. 

Thus the Seer, 

With vision clear, 

Sees forms appear and disappear, 

In the perpetual round of strange, 

Mysterious change 

1 'rem birth to death, from death to birth, 

From earth to heaven, from heaven to 

earth ; 
Till glimpses more sublime 
Of things, unseen before, 
Unto his wondering eyes reveal 
The Universe, as an immeasurable 

wheel 
Turning forevermore 
In the rapid and rushing river of Time. 



TO A CHILD. 

Dear child ! how radiant on thy moth- 
er's knee, 
With merry-making eyes and jocund 

smiles, 
Thou gazest at the painted tiles, 
Whose figures grace, 
With many a grotesque form and face, 
The ancient chimney of thy nursery 1 
The lady with the gay macaw, 
The dancing girl, the grave bashaw 
With bearded lip and chin ; 
And, leaning idly o'er his gate, 
Beneath the imperial fan of state, 
The Chinese mandarin. 

With what a look of proud command 
Thou shakest in thy little hand 
The coral rattle with its silver bells, 
Making a merry tune ! 
Thousands of years in Indian seas 
That coral grew, by slow degrees, 
Until some deadly and wild monsoon 
Dashed it on Coromandel's sand ! 
Those silver bells 
Reposed of yore, 
As shapeless ore, 

Tar down in the deep-sunken wells 
Of darksome mines, 
In some obscure and sunless place, 
Beneath huge Chimborazo's base, 
Or Potosf's o'erhanging pines ! 
And thus for thee, O little child, 
Through many a danger and escape, 
The tall ships passed the stormy cape ; 
For thee in foreign lands remote, 
Beneath a burning, tropic clime, 
The Indian peasant, chasing the wild 

goat, 
Himself as swift and wild, 
In falling, clutched the frail arbute, 
The fibres of whose shallow root, 
Uplifted from the soil, betrayed 
The silver veins beneath it laid. 
The buried treasures of the miser, Time. 

But, lo ! thy door is left ajar ! 

Thou nearest footsteps from afar ! 

And, at the sound, 

Thou turnest round 

With quick and questioning eyes, 

Like one, who, in a foreign land, 

Beholds on every hand 

Some source of wonder and surprise ! 



TO A CHILD. 



«7 



And, restlessly, impatiently, 

Thou strivest, strugglest. to be free. 

The four wails of thy nursery 

Are now like prison walls to thee. 

No more thy mothers smiles, 

No more the painted tiles, 

Delight thee, nor the playthings on the 
floor, 

That won thy little, beating heart be- 
fore ; 

Thou strugglest for the open door. 

Through these once solitary halls 
Thy pattering footstep fails. 
The sound of thy merry voice 
Makes the old wails 
Jubilant, and they rejoice 
Wiih the joy of thy young heart, 
O'er the light of whose gladness 
No shadows of sadness 
From the sombre background of mem- 
ory start. 

Once, ah, once, within these wails, 
One whom memory oft recalls, 
The Father of his Country,, dwelt. 
And yonder meadows broad and damp 
The rires of the besieging camp 
Encircled with a burning belt. 
Up and down these echoing stairs, 
Heavy with the weight of cares, 
Sounded his majestic tread ; 
Yes. within this very room 
Sat he in those hours of gioom, 
Wean,- both in heart and head. 

But what are the-se grave thoughts to 

thee? 
Out, out ! into the open air 
Thy only dream is liberty, 
Thou carest little how or where. 
I see thee eager at thy play. 
Now shouting to the apples on the tree. 
With cheeks as round and red as they ; 
And now among the yellow stalks, 
Among the flowering shrubs and plants, 
As restless as the bee. 
Along the garden walks, 
The tracks of thy small carriage-wheels 

I trace ; 
And see at even' turn how they efface 
Whole villages of sand-roofed tents, 
That rise like golden domes 
Above the cavernous and secret homes 
Of wandering and nomadic tribes of 

ants. 



Ah, cruel little Tamerlane, 
Who, with thy dreadful reign, 
Dost persecute and overwhelm 
These hapless Troglodytes of thy realm ! 

What ! tired already ! with those sup- 
pliant looks, 

And voice more beautiful than a poet's 
books, 

Or murmuring sound of water as it 
flows, 

Thou comest back to parley with re- 
pose ! 

This rustic seat in the old apple-tree, 

With its o'erhar.ging golden canopy 

Of leaves illuminate with autumnal 
hues, 

And shining with the argent light of 
dews, 

Shall for a season be our place of rest. 

Beneath us, like an oriole's pendent 
nest. 

From which the laughing birds have 
taken wing, 

By thee abandoned, hangs thy vacant 
swing. 

Dream-like the waters of the river 
gleam ; 

A sailless vessel drops adown the stream, 

And like it. to a sea as wide and deep. 

Thou driftest gently down the tides cf 
sleep. 

child ! O new-born denizen 
Of life's great city ! on thy head 
The glory of the morn is shed, 
Like a celestial benison ! 

Here at the portal thou dost stand. 
And with thy little hand _ 
Thou openest the mysterious gate 
Into the future's undiscovered land. 

1 see its valves expand, 
As at the touch of Fate ! 

Into those realms of love and hate, 
Into that darkness blank and drear, 
By some prophetic feeling taught, 
I launch the cold, adventurous th ought, 
Freighted with hope and fear ; 
As upon subterranean streams. 
In caverns unexplored and dark, 
Men sometimes launch a fragile bark, 
Laden with flickering fire. 
And watch its swift-receding beams, 
Until at length they disappear, 
And in the distant dark expire. 



88 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, ETC. 



By what astrology of fear or hope 

Dare I to cast thy horoscope ! 

Like the new moon thy life appears ; 

A little strip of silver light, 

And widening outward into night 

The shadowy disk of future years ; 

And yet upon its outer rim, 

A luminous circle, faint and dim, 

And scarcely visible to us here, 

Rounds and completes the perfect 

sphere ; 
A prophecy and intimation, 
A pale and feeble adumbration, 
Of the great world of light, that lies 
Behind all human destinies. 

Ah ! if thy fate, with anguish fraught, 
Should be to wet the dusty soil 
With the hot tears and sweat of toil, 
To struggle with imperious thought, 
Until the overburdened brain, 
Weary with labor, faint with pain, 
Like a jarred pendulum, retain 
Only its motion, not its power, — 
Remember, in that perilous hour, 
When most afflicted and oppressed, 
From labor there shall come forth rest. 

And if a more auspicious fate 

On thy advancing steps await, 

Still let it ever be thy pride 

To linger by the laborer's side ; 

With words of sympathy or & 

To cheer the dreary march along 

Of the great army of the poor, 

O'er desert sand, o'er dangerous moor. 

to thyself the task shall be 
Without reward ; for thou shalt learn 
The wisdom early to discern 
True beauty in utility ; 
As great Pythagoras of yore, 
Standing beside the blacksmith's door, 
And hearing the hammers, as they 

smote 
The anvils with a different note, 
Stole from the varying tones, that hung 
Vibrant on every iron tongue, 
The secret of the sounding wire, 
And formed tbeseven-chorded lyre. 

Enough ! I will not play the Seer ; 
I will no longer strive to ope 
The mystic volume, wheie appear 
The herald Hope, forerunning Fear, 
And Fear the pursuivant of Hope. ' 



Thy destiny remains untold ; 
For, like Acestes' shaft of old. 
The swift thought kindles as it flies, 
And burns to ashes in the skies. 



THE 



OCCULTATION 
ORION. 



OF 






I saw, as in a dream sublime, 
The balance in the hand of Time. 
O'er East and West its beam im- 
pended ; 
And day, with all its hours of light, 
Was slowly sinking out of sight. 
While, opposite, the scale of night 
Silently with the stars ascended. 

Like the astrologers of eld, 

In that bright vision I beheld 

Greater and deeper mysteries. 

I saw, with its celestial ki 

Its chords of air, its frets of fire, 

The Samian's great ^Eolian lyre, 

Rising through all its sevenfold bars, 

From earth unto the fixed stars. 

And through the dewy atmosphere, 

Not only could I see, but hear. 

Its wondrous and harmonious strings, 

In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere, 

From Dian's circle light and near, 

Onward to vaster and wider ring 

Where, chanting through his beard of 

snows. 
Majestic, mournful, Saturn goes, 
And down the sunless realms of space 
Reverberates the thunder of his bass. 

Beneath the sky's triumphal arch 
r l his music sounded like a march, 
And with its chorus seemed to be 
Preluding some great tragedy. 
Sirius was rising in the east ; 
And, slow ascending one by one, 
The kindling constellations shone. 
Begirt with many a blazing star, 
Stood the great giant Algebar, 
( Irion, hunter of the beast ! 
His sword hung gleaming bv his side. 
And, on his arm, the lion's hide 

ittered across the midnight air 
The golden radiance of its hair. 

The moon was pallid, but not faint ; 
And beautiful as some fair saint, 







THE BRIDGE. 



89 






Serenely moving on her way 
In hours of trial and dismay. 
As if she heard the voice of God, 
Unharmed with naked feet she trod 
Upon the hot and burning stars, 
As on the glowing coals and bars, 
That were to prove her strength, and try 
Her holiness and her purity. 

Thus moving on, with silent pace, 
And triumph in her sweet, pale face, 
She reached the station of Orion. 
Aghast he stood in strange alarm ! 
And suddenly from his outstretched arm 
Down fell the red skin of the lion 
Into the river at his feet. 
His mighty club no longer beat 
The forehead of the bull ; but he 
Reeled as of yore beside the sea, 
When, blinded by CEnopion, 
He sought the blacksmith at his forge, 
And, climbing up the mountain gorge, 
Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun. 

Then, through the silence overhead, 
An angel with a trumpet said, 
" Forevermore, forevermore, 
The reign of violence is o'er ! " 
And, like an instrument that flings 
Its music on another's strings, 
The trumpet of the angel cast 
Upon the heavenly lyre its blast, 
And on from sphere to sphere the words 
Re-echoed down the burning chords, — 
" Forevermore, forevermore, 
The reign of violence is o'er ! " 



THE BRIDGE. 

I stood on the bridge at midnight, 
As the clocks were striking the hour, 

And the moon rose o'er the city, 
Behind the dark church-tower. 

I saw her bright reflection 

In the waters under me, 
Like a golden goblet falling 

And sinking into the sea. 

And far in the hazy distance 
Of that lovely night in June, 

The blaze of the flaming furnace 
Gleamed redder than the moon. 

Among the long, black rafters 
The wavering shadows lay, 



And the current that came from the 
ocean 
Seemed to lift and bear them away ; 

As, sweeping and eddying through 
them, 

Rose the belated tide, 
And, streaming into the moonlight, 

The sea-weed floated wide. 

And like those waters rushing 

Among the wooden piers, 
A flood of thoughts came o'er me 

That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, O how often, 

In the days that had gone by, 

I had stood on that bridge at midnight, 
And gazed on that wave and skyl 

How often, O how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 

O'er the ocean wild and wide ! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 
And my life was full of care, 

And the burden laid upon me 

Seemed greater than 1 could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea ; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 

Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 

And I think how many thousands 

Of care-encumbered men, 
Each bearing his burden of sorrow, 

Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 

Still passing to and fro, 
The young heart hot and restless, 

And the old subdued and slow ! 

And forever and forever, 

As long as the river flows, 
As long as the heart has passions, 

As long as life has woes ; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear, 

As the symbol of love in heaven, 
And its wavering image here. 



90 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, ETC. 



TO THE DRIVING CLOUD. 

Gloomy and dark art thou, O chief of the mighty Omahas ; 
Gloomy and dark as the driving cloud, whose name thou hast taken ! 
Wrapt in thy scarlet blanket, I see thee stalk through the city's 
Narrow and populous streets, as once by the margin of rivers 
Stalked those birds unknown, that have left us only their footprints. 
What, in a few short years, will remain of thy race but the footprints ? 

How canst thou walk these streets, who hast trod the green turf of the prairies? 
How canst thou breathe this air, who hast breathed the sweet air of the mountains? 
Ah ! 't is in vain that with lordly looks of disdain thou dost challenge 
Looks of disdain in return, and question these walls and these pavements, 
Claiming the soil for thy hunting-grounds, while down-trodden millions 
Starve in the garrets of Europe, and cry from its caverns that they, too, 
Have been created heirs of the earth, and claim its division ! 

Back, then, back to thy woods in the regions west of the Wabash ! 

There as a monarch thou reignest. In autumn the leaves of the maple 

Pave the floors of thy palace halls with gold, and in summer 

Pine-trees waft through its chambers the odorous breath of their branches. 

There thou art strong and great, a hero, a tamer of horses ! 

There thou chasest the stately stag on the banks of the Elkhorn, 

Or by the roar of the Running- Water, or where the Omaha 

Calls thee, and leaps through the wild ravine like a brave of the Blackfeet ! 

Hark ! what murmurs arise from the heart of those mountainous deserts? 

Is it the cry of the Foxes and Crows, or the mighty Behemoth, 

Who, unharmed, on his tusks once caught the bolts of the thunder, 

And now lurks in his lair to destroy the race of the red man? 

Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the Crows and the Foxes, 

Far more fatal to thee and thy race than the tread of Behemoth, 

Lo ! the big thunder-canoe, that steadily breasts the Missouri's 

Merciless current ! and yonder, afar on the prairies, the camp-fires 

Gleam through the night ; and the cloud of dust in the gray of the daybreak 

Marks not the buffalo's track, nor the Mandan's dexterous horse-race ; 

It is a caravan, whitening the desert where dwell the Camanches ! 

Ha ! how the breath of these Saxons and Celts, like the blast of the east-wind, 

Drifts evermore to the west the scanty smokes of thy wigwams ! 



SO 

SEA-WEED. 

When descends on the Atlantic 
The gigantic 

Storm-wind of the equinox, 
Landward in his wrath he scourges 

The toiling surges, 
Laden with sea-weed from the rocks : 

From Bermuda's reefs ; from edges 

Of sunken ledges, 
In some far-off, bright Azore ; 
From Bahama, and the dashing, 

Silver-flashing 
Surges of San Salvador ; 



NGS. 

From the tumbling surf, that buries 

The Orkneyan skerries, 
Answering the hoarse Hebrides ; 
And from wrecks of ships, and drift- 
ing 

Spars, uplifting 
On the desolate, rainy seas ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless main ; 
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches 

Of sandy beaches, 
All have found repose again. 



AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY. 



91 




So when storms of wild emotion 

Strike the ocean 
Of the poet's soul, erelong 
From each cave and rocky fastness, 

. In its vastness, 
Floats some fragment of a song : 

From the far-off isles enchanted, 

Heaven has planted 
With the golden fruit of Truth ; 
From the flashing surf, whose vision 

Gleams Elysian 
In the tropic clime of Youth ; 

From the strong Will, and the Endeavor 

That forever 
Wrestles with the tides of Fate ; 
From the wreck of Hopes far -scattered, 

Tempest-shattered, 
Floating waste and desolate ; — 

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless heart ; 
Till at length in books recorded, 

They, like hoarded 
Household words, no more depart. 



THE DAY IS DONE. 

The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night, 

As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 

That my soul cannot resist : 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 
Some simple and heartfelt lay, 

That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters, 
Not from the bards sublime, 

Whose distant footsteps echo 
Through the corridors of Time. 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 



Life's endless toil and endeavor ; 
And to-night I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet, 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start ; 

Who, through long days of labor, 

And nights devoid of ease, 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares, that infest the day, 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 



AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY. 

The day is ending, 
The night is descending ; 
The marsh is frozen, 
The river dead. 

Through clouds like ashes 
The red sun flashes 
On village windows 
That glimmer red. 

The snow recommences ; 
The buried fences 
Mark no longer 
The road o'er the plain ; 

While through the meadows, 
Like fearful shadows, 
Slowly passes 
A funeral train. 

The bell is pealing, 
And every feeling 
Within me responds 
To the dismal knell ; 

Shadows are trailing, 
My heart is bewailing 
And tolling within 
Like a funeral bell. 



92 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, ETC. 



TO AN OLD DANISH SONG- 
BOOK. 

Welcome, my old friend. 
Welcome to a foreign fireside, 
While the sullen gales of autumn 
Shake the windows. 

The ungrateful world 
Has, it seems, dealt harshly with thee, 
Since, beneath the skies of Denmark, 
First I met thee. 

There are marks of age, 
There are thumb-marks on thy margin, 
Made by hands that clasped thee rudely, 
At the alehouse. 

Soiled and dull thou art ; 
Yellow are thy time-worn pages, 
As the russet, rain-molested 
Leaves of autumn. 

Thou art stained with wine 
Scattered from hilarious goblets, 
As the leaves with the libations 
Of Olympus. 

Yet dost thou recall 
I > ays departed, half-forgotten. 
When in dreamy youth 1 wandered 
By the Baltic, — 

When I paused to hear 
The old ballad of King Christian 
Shouted from suburban taverns 
In the twilight. 

Thou recallest bards. 
Who, in solitary chambers, 
And with hearts by passion wasted, 
Wrote thy pages. 

Thou recallest homes 
Where thy songs of love and friend- 
ship 
Made the gloomy Northern winter 
Bright as summer. 

Once some ancient Scald, 
In his bleak, ancestral Iceland, 
Chanted staves of these old ballads 
To the Vikings. 

Once in Elsinore, 
At the court of old King Hamlet, 
Yorick and his boon companions 
Sang these ditties. 



Once Prince Frederick's Guard 
Sang them in their smoky barracks; — 
Suddenly the English cannon 
Joined the chorus ! 

Peasants in the field, 
Sailors on the roaring ocean, 
Students, tradesmen, pale mechanics, 
All have sung them. 

Thou hast been their friend ; 
They, alas ! have left thee friendless ! 
Yet at least by one warm fireside 
Art thou welcome. 

And, as swallows build 
In these wide, old-fashioned chimneys, 
So thy twittering songs shall nestle 
In my bosom, — 

Quiet, close, and warm. 
Sheltered from all molestation, 
And recalling by their voices 
Youth and travel. 



WALTER VON DER VOGEL- 
WEID. 

VoGSLWSID the Minnesinger, 
When he left this world of ours, 

Laid his body in the cloister, 

Under Wiirtzburg's minster towers. 

And he gave the monks his treasures, 
Gave them all with this behest : 

They should feed the birds at noontide 
Daily on his place of rest ; 

Saying, " From these wandering min- 
strels 

I have learned the art of song; 
Let me now repay the lessons 

They have taught so well and long." 

Thus the bard of love departed ; 

And, fulfilling his desire. 
On his tomb the birds were feasted 

By the children of the choir. 

Day by day, o'er tower and turret, 

In foul weather and in fair, 
Day by day, in vaster numbers, 

Flocked the poets of the air. 

On the tree whose heavy branches 
Overshadowed all the pla 

On the pavement, on the tombstone, 
On the poet's sculptured la 




THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 



93 









On the cross-bars of each window, 

On the lintel of each door, 
They renewed the War of Wartburg, 

Which the bard had fought before. 

There they sang their merry carols, 
Sang their lauds on every side ; 

And the name their voices uttered 
Was the name of Vogelweid. 

Till at length the portly abbot 

Murmured, " Why this waste of food? 

lie it changed to loaves henceforward 
For our fasting brotherhood." 

Then in vain o'er tower and turret, 
From the walls and woodland nests, 

When the minster bells rang noontide, 
Gathered the unwelcome guests. 

Then in vain, with cries discordant, 
Clamorous round the Gothic spire, 

Screamed the feathered Minnesingers 
For the children of the choir. 

Time has long effaced the inscriptions 
On the cloister's funeral stones, 

And tradition only tells us 

Where repose the poet's bones. 

But around the vast cathedral, 
By sweet echoes multiplied, 

Still the birds repeat the legend, 
And the name of Vogelweid. 



DRINKING SONG. 

INSCRIPTION FOR AN ANTIQUE 
PITCHER. 

Come, old friend ! sit down and listen ! 

From the pitcher, placed between us, 
How the waters laugh and glisten 

In the head of old Silenus ! 

Old Silenus, bloated, drunken, 
Led by his inebriate Satyrs ; 

On his breast his head is sunken, 
Vacantly he leers and chatters. 

Fauns with youthful Bacchus follow; 

Ivy crowns that brow supernal 
As the forehead of Apollo, 

And possessing youth eternal. 

Round about him, fair Bacchantes, 
Bearing cymbals, flutes, and thyrses, 

Wild from Naxian groves, or Zante's 
Vineyards sing delirious verses. 



Thus he won, through all the nations, 
BloodlesS victories, and the farmer 

Bore, as trophies and oblations, 
Vines for banners, ploughs for armor. 

Judged by no o'erzealous rigor, 

Much this mystic throng expresses: 

Bacchus was the type of vigor, 
And Silenus of excesses. 

These are ancient ethnic revels, 
Of a faith long since forsaken ; 

Now the Satyrs, changed to devils, 
Frighten mortals wine-o'ertaken. 

Now to rivulets from the mountains 
Point the rods of fortune-tellers ; 

Youth perpetual dwells in fountains, — 
Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars. 

Claudius, though he sang of flagons 
And huge tankards filled with 
Rhenish, 

From that fiery blood of dragons 
Never would his own replenish. 

Even Redi, though he chaunted 
Bacchus in the Tuscan valleys, 

Never drank the wine he vaunted 
In his dithyrambic sallies. 

Then with water fill the pitcher 

Wreathed about with classic fables ; 

Ne'er Falernian threw a richer 
Light upon Lucullus' tables. 

Come, old friend, sit down and listen ! 

As it passes thus between us, 
How its wavelets laugh and glisten 

In the head of old Silenus 1 



THE 



OLD CLOCK 
STAIRS. 



ON THE 



L'eternite est nne pendule, dont le 
balancfer dit et redit sans cease ees deux 
mots seulemcnt, dans le silence des tom- 
beaux : " Toujours ! jamais ! Jamais I 
toujours!" Jacques Bridaine. 

Somewhat back from the village street 

Stands tha old-fashioned country-seat. 

Across its antique portico 

Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw, 

And from its station in the hall 

An ancient timepiece says to all, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 



94 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, ETC. 



Half-way up the stairs it stands, 
And points and beckons with its hands 
From its case of massive oak, 
Like a monk, who, under his cloak, 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 
With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

By day its voice is low and light ; 
Bat in the silent dead of night, 
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
It echoes along the vacant hall, 
Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
And seems to say, at each chamber- 
door, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through days of death anddays of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has 

stood, 
And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

In that i insion used to be 
Free-hearted Hospitality; 
His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
The stranger feasted at his board; 
But, like the skeleton at the least, 
That warning timepiece never ceased, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

There groups of merry children played, 
There youths and maidens dreaming 

strayed ; 
O precious hours ! O golden mime, 
And affluence of love and time ! 
Even as a miser counts his gold, 
Those hours the ancient timepiece 
told, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 



From that chamber, clothed in white, 
The bride came forth on her wedding 

night ; _ 
There, in that silent room below, 
The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
And in the hush that followed the 

prayer, 
Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

All are scattered now and fled, 
Some are married, some are dead ; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
" Ah ! when shall they all meet again ? " 
As in the days long since gone by, 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 

Never here, forever there, 
Where all parting, pain, and care, 
And death, and time shall disappear, — 
Forever there, but never here ! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, — 

" Forever — never ! 

Never — forever ! " 



THE ARROW AND THE SONG. 

I shot an arrow into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

I breathed a song into the air, 
It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For who has sight so keen and strong, 
That it can follow the flight of song.? 

Long, long afterward in an oak 
I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 



SONNETS. 



THE EVENING STAR. 

Lo ! in the painted oriel of the West, 
Whose panes the sunken sun incarna- 
dines, 



Like a fair lady at her casement, 

shines 
The evening star, the star of love 
and rest ! 
And then anon she doth herself divest 



THE HEMLOCK TREE. 



95 



Of all her radiant garments, and re- 
clines 

Behind the sombre screen of yonder 
pines, 

With slumber and soft dreams of 
love oppressed. 
my beloved, my sweet Hesperus ! 

My morning and my evening star of 
love ! 

My best and gentlest lady ! even thus, 
As that fair planet in the sky above, 

Dost thou retire unto thy rest at night, 

And from thy darkened window fades 
the light. 



AUTUMN. 

Thou comest, Autumn, heralded by 
the rain, 

With banners, by great gales inces- 
sant fanned, 

Brighter than brightest silks of Sam- 
arcand, 

And stately oxen harnessed to thy 
wain ! 
Thou standest, like imperial Charle- 
magne, 

Uponthybridgeofgold; thyroyalhand 

Outstretched with benedictions o'er 
the land, 

Blessing the farms through all thy 
vast domain ! 
Thy shield is the red harvest moon, sus- 
pended 

So long beneath the heaven's o'er- 
hanging eaves ; 



Thy steps are by the farmer's prayers 

attended ; 
Like flames upon an altar shine the 

sheaves ; 
And, following thee, in thy ovation 

splendid, 
Thine almoner, the wind, scatters the 

golden leaves ! 



DANTE. 

Tuscan, that wanderest through the 
realms of gloom, 

With thoughtful pace, and sad, ma- 
jestic eyes, 

Stern thoughts and awful from thy 
soul arise, 

Like Farinata from his fiery tomb. 
Thy sacredsongislikethetrumpof doom; 

Yet in thy heart what human sym- 
pathies, 

What soft compassion glows, as in 
the skies 

The tender stars their clouded lamps 
relume ! 
Methinks I see thee stand, with pallid 
cheeks, 

By Fra Hilario in his diocese, 

As up the convent-walls, in golden 
streaks, 
The ascending sunbeams mark the day's 
decrease ; 

And, as he asks what there the stran- 
ger seeks, 

Thy voice along the cloister whis- 
pers, "Peace !" 



TRANSLATIONS. 
THE HEMLOCK TREE. 



FROM THE GERMAN. 

O hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! 

how faithful are thy branches ! 

Green not alone in summer time, 

But in the winter's frost and rime ! 

O hemlock tree ! O hemlock tree ! how 

faithful are thy branches ! 

O maiden fair ! O maiden fair ! how 

faithless is thy bosom ! 

To love me in prosperity, 

And leave me in adversity ! 

O maiden fair ! O maiden fair ! how 

faithless is thy bosom ! 



The nightingale, the nightingale, thou 
tak'st for thine example ! 
So long as summer laughs she sings, 
But in the autumn spreads her 
wings. 
The nightingale, the nightingale, thou 
tak'st for thine example ! 

The meadow brook, the meadow brook, 
is mirror of thy falsehood! 
It flows so long as falls the rain, 
In drought its springs soon dry 
again. 
The meadow brook, the meadow brook, 
is mirror of thy falsehood ! 



9 6 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES, ETC. 



ANNIE OF THARAW. 

FROM THE LOW GERMAN OF SIMON 
DACH. 

Annie of Tharaw, my true love of old, 
She is my life, and my goods, and my 
gold. 

Annie of Tharaw, her heart once again 
To me has surrendered in joy and in 
pain. 

Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good, 
Thou, O my soul, my flesh and my 
blood ! 

Then come the wild weather, come 

sleet or come snow, 
We will stand by each other, however 

it blow. 

Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, 

and pain 
Shall be to our true love as links to 

the chain. 

As the palm-tree standeth so straight 

and so tall, 
The more the hail beats, and the more 

the rains fall, — 

So love in our hearts shall grow 

mighty and strong. 
Through crosses, through sorrows, 
through manifold wrong. 

Shouldst thou be torn from me to wan- 
der alone 

In a desolate land where the sun is 
scarce known, — 

Through forests I Ml follow, and where 

the Bea (lows, 
Through ice, and through iron, through 

armies of foes. 

Annie of Tharaw, my light and my sun, 
The threads of our two lives are woven 
in one. 

Whate'er I have bidden thee thou 
hast obey 

Whatever forbidden thou hast not gain- 
said. 

How in the turmoil of life can love 

stand, 
Where there is not one heart, and one 

mouih, and one hand? 



Some seek for dissension, and trouble, 

and strife ; 
Like a dog and a cat live such man 

and wife. 

Annie of Tharaw, such is not our love ; 
Thou art my lambkin, my chick, and 
my dove. 

Whate'er my desire is, in thine may 

be seen ; 
I am king of the household, and thou 

art its queen. 

It is this, O my Annie, my heart's 

sweetest rest, 
That makes of us twain but one soul in 

one breast. 

This turns to a heaven the hut where 

we dwell ; 
While wrangling soon changes a home 

to a hell. 



THE STATUE OVER THE 
CATHEDRAL DOOR. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS 

M OS F.N". 

Forms of saints and kings are standing 

The cathedral door abo\ 
Yet I saw but one among them 

Who hath soothed my soul with love. 

In his mantlet — wound about him. 
As their robes the sower, wind, — 

e he swallows and their fledglings, 
Flowers and weeds of every kind. 

And so stands he calm and childlike, 
High in wind and tempest wild ; 

( ). were I like him exalted. 
1 would be like him, a child ! 

And my songs, — green leaves and 
blossoms, — 

To the doors of heaven would bear, 
Calling, even in storm and temp 

Round me still these birds of air. 



THE LEGEND OF THE CROSS- 
BILL. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF JUL1 EN. 

Ox the cross the dyincr Saviour 
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, 




POETIC APHORISMS. 



97 






Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling 
In his pierced and bleeding palm. 

And by all the world forsaken, 
Sees he how with zealous care 

At the ruthless nail of iron 
A little bird is striving there. 

Stained with blood and never tiring, 
With its beak it doth not cease, 

From the cross 't would free the Saviour, 
Its Creator's Son release. 

And the Saviour speaks in mildness : 
" Blest be thou of all the good ! 

Bear, as token of this moment, 
Marks of blood and holy rood ! " 

And that bird is called the crossbill ; 

Covered all with blood so clear, 
In the groves of pine it singeth 

Songs, like legends, strange to hear. 



THE SEA HATH ITS PEARLS. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH 
HEINE. 

The sea hath its pearls, 

The heaven hath its stars ; 
But my heart, my heart, 

My heart hath its love. 

Great are the sea and the heaven ; 

Yet greater is my heart, 
And fairer than pearls and stars 

Flashes and beams my love, - 

Thou little, youthful maiden, 
Come unto my great heart ; 

My heart, and the sea, and the heaven 
Are melting away with love ! 



POETIC APHORISMS. 

FROM THE SINNGEDICHTE OF FRIED- 
RICH VON LOGAU. 

SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 

MONEY. 

Whereunto is money good ? 
Who has it not wants hardihood, 
Who has it has much trouble and care, 
Who once has had it has despair. 

7 



THE BEST MEDICINES. 

Joy and Temperance and Repose 
Slam the door on the doctor's nose. 

SIN. 

Man-like is it to fall into sin, 
Fiend-like is it to dwell therein, 
Christ-like is it for sin to grieve, 
God-like is it all sin to leave. 

POVERTY AND BLINDNESS. 

A blind man is a poor man, and blind 

a poor man is ; 
For the former seeth no man, and the 

latter no man sees. 

LAW OF LIFE. 

Live I, so live I, 
To my Lord heartily, 
To my Prince faithfully, 
To my Neighbor honestly. 
Die I, so die I. 

CREEDS. 

Lutheran, Popish, Calvinistic, all 
these creeds and doctrines three 

Extant are ; but still the doubt is, where 
Christianity may be. 

THE RESTLESS HEART. 

A millstone and the human heart are 

driven ever round ; 
If they have nothing else to grind, they 

must themselves be ground. 

CHRISTIAN LOVE. 

Whilom Love was like a fire, and 
warmth and comfort it bespoke ; 

But, alas ! it now is quenched, and only 
bites us, like the smoke. 

ART AND TACT. 

Intelligence and courtesy not always 

are combined ; 
Often in a wooden house a golden room 

we find. 

RETRIBUTION. 

Though the mills of God grind slowly, 
yet they grind exceeding small ; _ 

Though with patience he stands wait- 
ing, with exactness grinds he all. 



93 



El'AXGELIXE. 



TRUTH. 

When by night the frogs are croaking, kindle bnt a torch's fire, 
Ha ! how soon they all are silent I Thus Truth silences the liar. 

RHYMES. 

If perhaps these rhymes of mine should sound not well in strangers' cars 
They have only to bethink them that it happens so with then 

swords, like mortals, call a fatherland their own. 
They will be most highly valued where they are best and longest known. 



C U R V E W 



Solemnly, mournfully, 

tie, 
Th( v Hell 

to toll. 

r the emb 

(1 put out the light : 

with the morning, 
nth the night 

Dark i;r<>\\ the windoi 

Del Quenched is the tire; 
Sound fades into silence, — 
retire. 

voice in the chambers, 

>und in the hall 1 
p and oblh 
Reign over all I 



II. 



The book is completed. 

And closed, like the daj 
And the hand that has written it 
. B it aw 

1 >im grow its fane i 
•.ten they li 

Lik. 

They dai ken and die. 

inks into silen< 
riu is told, 

The \\ indoi darkened, 

The hearth stone is cold. 

i and darker 
The black shadows fall ; 
Sleep and oblh ion 
Reign over all. 



EVANG ELIN 



A TAM OF AC A D I E. 
1847. 

Tms is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, 

irded with moss, and in garment n, indistinct in the twilight, 

Stand like Druids of eld, with \ id and prophetic, 

;d like harper- hoar, with beards that re>t ( >n their 1>« 
1 from it ns, the de< hborini 

. and in acceuts di coi so ite answers th<- wail of the 

This is the al ; but where are the hearts that beneath it 

I 1 d like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman? 

Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home — 

Men whose lives glided on 111 ! that water the WOOdlai 

Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an 1 n? 



EVANGELINE. 99 

Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed ! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean. 
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre. 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient, 
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion, 
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest ; 
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy. 

PART THE FIRST. 

i. 

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas, 

Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre 

Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward, 

Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number. 

Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant, 

Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons the flood-gates 

Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows. 

West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields 

Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and away to the northward 

Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains 

Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic 

Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended. 

There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village. 

Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chestnut, 

Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries. 

Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; and gables projecting 

Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway. 

There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset 

Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chimneys, 

Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles 

Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden 

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors 

Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the songs of the maidens. 

Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the children 

Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless them. 

Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose matrons and maidens, 

Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. 

Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the sun sank 

Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the belfry 

Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village 

Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, 

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment. 

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian farmers, — 

Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free from 

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of republics. 

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their windows ; 

But-their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners ; 

There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abundance. 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin of Minas, 
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand-Pre, 
Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his household, 



IOO 



EVAXGELIXE. 



Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the village 

Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that teed in the mekdows 
VV hen in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah I fair in sooS was tl e n L 
Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the be \\i r ,' t turret 

rink ed With holy sounds the air. as the priest with Ins hyssoo 
Spnnk es the CO. urn, and scatters blessings up,, them l 

Down the longstreet she passed, with her chapE o? beads mi her missal 
JJ eanng her Norman cap. and her kiltie of blue, and the e , n 's ' 

Brought in the olden tune from France, and since, a. an heirloom 
H uuled down from mother to child, through lon^ .-encMtions ' 
But a celestial brightness -.a more ethereal beaufy- 

t»e on her ind encircled her form, when, after | on 

Homeward [serenely she walked with God's benediction P i, er 

* hen she had passed, it seemed like the Ceasing of exquisite music 
Firmly biiUded with rafn ,k. the house of the farmer 

on the side of a lull commanding the sea ; and a shady 

[e door, with a woSdbine w^athinglround it 
Iwastl h, with seats beneath ; ffiftSS* 

ler he ,;' ; ,dU; ' d ,n the meadow. 

,m V ' I byapenthou 

S.Kha. : thetrav <: lle I • remote ffy tne rSSdJ 

f.rtlH- r theb ,,r M ,,, 

Atcsaa fetf! 

>'""; IK ft* 

"" ha) the barns, thei I M 

and., hOn0 

S?J? # thi led up to the odorous con I 

! "" ,hr 1. with its t nrnitcs 

'TT While nth, varum 

mbc,k ttleda. ofrrlut 

rffi^J world, the fan nd-Pni 

n hu »""ny fenn, rned his household 

knelt in th. ,. , , J U1 - 

iponh ,,nto,ln- 

M? i her hand, | , '\rment , 

,""«'> .or, by the dn ,nent ' 

he knocked and waited to hear the sound of),,., 

f V uw i ,,,tuh " "'«•' ler, hi I , 

n, 

^ed her hand in th red 



E VA NGEL INE. 101 

But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome ; 

Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith, 

Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men ; 

For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations, 

Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people. 

Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood 

Grew up together as brother and sister ; and Father Felician, 

Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters 

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song. 

But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, 

Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. 

There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him 

Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, 

Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel 

Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders. 

Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness 

Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice, 

Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows, 

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes, 

Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel. 

Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle, 

Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow. 

Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters, 

Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow 

Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings; 

Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow ! 

Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children. 

He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning, 

Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action. 

She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman. 

" Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for that was the sunshine 

Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples ; 

She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance, 

Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. 

ii. 

Now had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer, 

And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters. 

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, from the ice-bound, 

Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical islands. 

Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the winds of September 

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old with the angel. 

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclement. 

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded their honey 

Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters asserted 

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of the foxes. 

Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed that beautiful season, 

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer of All-Saints ! 

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light ; and the landscape 

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of childhood. 

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless heart of the ocean 

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. 

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in the farm-yards, 

Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of pigeons, 




ioj EVANGELINE. 

All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and the pre at sun 
I with the i h the golden md him : 

While arrayed in its i t and yellow, 

lit with the sheen of the dew. each glittei 

hed like the plane-tree the I adorned with mantles and jewels. 

v recommenced the reign of rest and a and stillm 

ith its burden and heat had departed, and 

I hack the evei x to th< the herds to the homestead. 

nd the) tch oih 

I with their f even; 

bearing the bell. tutiful 1 

ile hide, and the I from her collar, 

iced an<: human 

Then came th with his bl< rom the 

ture. Behind them followed the watchdog, 
:. full of in md in the pride of his instin< 

lordly air, an My 

W . 

he wh< hepherd slept : then protect 

it, through the tarry silence, the wolves howled 

•in the marsh, 
den with briny hay, thai tir with it> ocV 

. \\i:h dew On their manes and their fetlocks, 
While aloft on tip ten and p »nd< 

1 with brilliant dyes, and adorned with ta n, 

1 in bright array, like hollyho* ks h 

mean.' 
IC milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in i< 
Into the sour ;dets d( 

m the farm -yard, 
>n they sank into stillm 
ised, with a iarrii d, the \ l the barn 

led the wood) ID wa I silent. 

m by tl mouthed fireplace, idly the farmer 

■ in his md watched how the flames and the smoke-wreaths 

Stn in a burning city. Behind him. 

md mockii tic, 

ted his own huge shadow, and vanished awav into darkm 

i lumsilj k, on the bai k of 1 h hair 

in the flickering light, and th ter plates on the dresser 

Jit and reflected the flame, as shields ot armies the sunshin 

2 the old man md « SI Kristin 

in the o'den time, his fathers before him 
Norman orchards and bright Burgundian vine 
was the gentle Kvangeline seated, 
the loom, that Btood in th :r behind m 

Silent awhile treadles, .it i n\ shuttl 

While the monotonous di the wheel, like th< 

I old man's song, and united th< 

n .i < hurt h. when the chant of the choir at intervals i 

1 in the i if the pi iesl at th< 

So, in each pat , with motion the 



E VA NGELINE. 103 

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, and, suddenly lifted, 
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung back on its hinges. 
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was Basil the blacksmith, 
And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who was with him. 
" Welcome W" the farmer exclaimed, as their footsteps paused on the threshold, 
" Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy place on the settle 
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty without thee ; 
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the box of tobacco ; 
Never so much thyself art thou as when through the curling 
Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and jovial face gleams 
Round and red as the harvest moon through the mist of the marshes." 
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered Basil the blacksmith, 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the fireside : — 
" Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest and thy ballad I 
Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others are filled with 
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin before them. 
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe." 
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evangeline brought him, 
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he slowly continued : — 
" Four days now are passed since the English ships at their anchors 
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon pointed against us. 
What their design may be is unknown ; but all are commanded 
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his Majesty's mandate 
Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in the mean time 
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the people." 
Then made answer the farmer : — " Perhaps some friendlier purpose 
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the harvests in England 
By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been blighted, 
And from our bursting barns they would feed their cattle and children." 
" Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, warmly, the blacksmith, 
Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then, heaving a sigh, he continued: — 
" Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor Port Royal. 
Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on its outskirts, 
Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of to-morrow. 
Arms have been taken from us, and warlike weapons of all kinds ; 
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the scythe of the mower." 
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial farmer : — 
" Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks and our cornfields, 
Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by the ocean, 
Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's cannon. 
Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no shadow of sorrow 
Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the night of the contract. 
Built are the house and the barn. The merry lads of the village 
Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking the glebe round about them, 
Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food for a twelvemonth. 
Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers and inkhorn. 
Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy of our children?" 
As apart by the window she stood, with her hand in her lover's, 
Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her father had spoken, 
And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary entered. 

in. 

Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, 
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public ; 



ich EVANGELINE, 

Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hurt? 

Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and glasses with horn bov 

astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. 
Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred 
Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. 
Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive," 
Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. 

w, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion. 
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. 
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children ; 
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the fore 

d of the goblin that came in the night to water the horsi 
And of the white Fetiche, the ghost Ota child who unchristened 

1, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children ; 
And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable. 
And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, 
And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved clover ami horsesiu 
With what else was writ in the lore of the villa 

Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, 

eked from his pipe tl lit hand, 

" Father Leblanc, I "thou hast heard the talk in the village, 

And, pen hance, canst tell us some news of these ships and theii errand. 

n with modest demeanor made answer the notary public, — 
" Gossip < >i I heard, in sooth, yet am nevei the wiser; 

And what their errand may be I know not better than others, 
am I not of those who imagine some evil intention 

them here, for we are at and why then molest us?" 

" t rod's name ! " shouted th - and somewhat irascible blacksmith ; 

" Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore? 
ily iniu and might is the right of the '" 

But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public, — 

'■ Man i- unjust, bui t lod is just ; and finally justice 

omphs : and will I : th.it often consoled me, 

Wh [ lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." 

This was the old mat rite tale, and he loved t> l it 

When l i omplained that any inju them. 

in an ancient city, whose name I no l< rememtx 

aloft on •» column, a bra/en statue of Justice 
Stood in the public square, upholding the si ales in its left hand, 
And in its righ m emblem that justice presided 

( her the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. 
ii the birds had built their nests in the of the balai 

Having no fear of the swoni th.it flashed in the sunshine above them. 

But in the Course of time the laws of the land were corrupted : 

Might took the place of right, and the weak were oi I, and the mighty 

Kuled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a noblcmai ace 

That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a tuspi< too 

I] on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the h< hold. 

. after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold. 
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue < 

I ather in heaven her innocent spirit ied, 

I 1 1 o'er the city a tempt md the bolts of the thund 

Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath fron ' hand 

Down on the pavement below the clattering * ilance, 






EVANGELINE. 105 

And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, 
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." 
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith 
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language ; 
All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors 
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, 
Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed 
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand- Pre ; 
While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, 
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, 
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. 
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, 
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. 
Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver ; 
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and the bridegroom, 
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. 
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, 
While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, 
Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. 
Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men 
Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, 
Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. 
Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, 
Sat the lovers, and whispered together, beholding the moon rise 
Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows. 
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, 
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. 

Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry 
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway 
Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned in the household. 
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the doorstep 
Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. 
Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, 
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. 
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. 
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, 
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. 
Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. 
Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press 
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded 
Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven. 
This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, 
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. 
Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight 
Streamed through the'windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maiden 
Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. 
Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with 
Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber ! 
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, 
Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. 
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness 



io6 EVANGELINE, 

Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight 
Flitted across the Hoor and darkened the room tor a moment 
And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass 
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footste] 
As out of Abraham's tent young lshmael wandered with Hagar ! 

IV. 

Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village of Grand-Pre\ 

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin of Mina-. 

Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, were riding at anchor. 

Life had long been astir in the village, and clamorous lab 

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning. 

m from the country around, from the farms and neighboring hamlets, 
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian peasai 
M inj a gl : ~ 1 morrow and jocund laugh from the young folk 
Made the bright air brighter, as up from the numerous meadows, 
\\ ': mid be seen but the track of wheels in the ward, 

ed. and joined, 01 I on the highwi 

I noon, in the 

'J hi were ti ;•> with people . ami urn pa at the house-d* 

in the cheerful sun, and ! and g getner. 

1 iy him in inn, where all were welcomed and t« 

1 ith this simple people, who lived like broth 

All thai n common, and what one had was another's. 

I ibundant ; 

1 i d among ih ither ; 

* her face with . and v me and pladness 

m her beautiful lips, and 

1 .in the : d. 

ipt u\ i' etrothal. 

« h were the priest and the notary seated; 
turdy Basil th -mith. 

withdi press .uul the beelm 

; ot wai 
low ami light from tb mow white 

in the wind ; and the fiddler 

when tin blown from thi rs. 

nd ot I lc, 

And anon with hi it time to the inn 

nly. merrily whirled tin- wl, 
I hard tn<- and down tin path to t! 

id young I hem. 

ill tin- maids v. i i 

t of all the youths was < . son <>t tin h ! 

tin- morning awaj \ 1 1«>' with a summon 
mded tin- bell from it i t< m • 

tin- i luui !i w ith men. Without, in the » hun hvard. 
I mhI hung on tl 

'iimn 1< 

: them 

tl W i M\<\ (1, 

l toed the sound of their brazca drum . — 






EVANGELINE. jo 7 

Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous portal 

Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of the soldiers. 

Then uprose their commander, and spake from the steps of the altar, 

Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal commission. 

" You are convened this day," he said, " by his Majesty's orders. 

Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have answered his kindness, 

Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make and my temper 

Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must be grievous. 

Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of our monarch ; 

Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cattle of all kinds 

Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you yourselves from this province 

lie transported to other lands. God grant you may dwell there 

Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable people ! 

Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his Majesty's pleasure 1 " 

As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of summer, 

Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of the hailstones 

Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and shatters his windows, 

Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with thatch from the house-roofs, 

Bellowing lly the herds, and seek to break their enclosures ; 

So on the hearts of the people descended the words of the speaker. 

Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, and then rose 

Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, 

And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to the doorway. 

Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce imprecations 

Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er the heads of the others 

Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the blacksmith, 

As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 

Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; and wildly he shouted, — 

" Down with the tyrants of England ! we never have sworn them allegiance ! 

Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our homes and our harvests ! " 

More he fain would have said, but the merciless hand of a soldier 

Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down to the pavement. 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry contention, 
Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father Felician 
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps of the altar. 
Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed into silence 
All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to his people ; 
Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents measured and mournful 
Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly the clock strikes. 
" What is this that ye do, my children ? what madness has seized you? 
forty years of my life have 1 labored among you, and taught you, 
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another ! 
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers and privations? 
Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and forgiveness? 
This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would you profane it 
Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing with hatred ? 
Eo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross is gazing upon you ! 
See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and holy compassion ! 
Hark ! how those lips still repeal the prayer, ' O Father, forgive them ! ' 
I .et us repeat that prayer in the hour when the wicked assail us, 
Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive them ! ' " 
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the hearts of his people 
Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the passionate outbreak, 
While they repeated his prayer, and said, " O Father, forgive them ! " 



108 EVAXGELIXE. 

Then came the evening sen-ice. The tapers gleamed from the altar. 
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and the people responded, 
Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and the Ave Maria 
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, with devotion translated, 
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending to heaven. 

Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings of ill, and on all sides 
Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women and children. 
Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with her right hand 
Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun. that, descending. 
Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, and roofed each 
Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and emblazoned its winch 

■ng within had been spread the snow-white cloth on the table ; 
There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fragrant with wild-flowers ; 
There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese fresh brought from the dairy ; 
And, at the head of the hoard, the great arm-chair of the farmer. 
Thus did Evangeline wait .it her father*! door, as the sunset 
Threw the long shadows oft tr the bnud ambrosial meadows. 

Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had fallen. 
And from the fields of her soul a u nded. — 

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, and patience ! 
Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the villas 

Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts <>t the women, 
>'er the darkening fields with lingering steps they departed, 
ged by their household cares, and the weary feel of their children. 
1 mk the gr< ran, and in golden, glimmering vaj 

Veiled the light of his fate, like tl iphet descending from Sinai. 

Sweetly over the village the hell of the Angelus sounded. 

Meanwhile, amid thi n, by the church 1 line lingered. 

All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and the winch 
'd she and li ind looked, till, overcome l>\ emotion, 

ibriel ! " cried sh . with tremulous \. >i< ,• ; but no ans* 

Came from the lead, nor : the living. 

• ly at l< lie returned to the tenantless house of her lath 

Smouldered tl i the hearth, on the hoard was the supper untaxed, 

Empty and drear • h loom, and haunted with phantoms of terror. 

Sadl; on the stan* and the floor of her chamber. 

In the dead of the night sh,- heard the disconsolate rain fall 

lid on the withere the sycam 1>\ the window. 

ily the lightning I ; and the ■ I the echoing thunder 

Told her ti I was in heaven, and \ world h< d ! 

Then she remembered the tale she had heard of the justice of Hh 
Soothed was her troubled soul, and iccfully slumbered till morning. 

v. 

! r times the sun had risen and set ; and now on the fifth day 
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of the firm house. 

•'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful pi n, 

Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms the Acadian won. 

Driving in ponderous wains their household goods to the sea ih< 

and looking hack to ice more on their dwell il 

they were shut from sight by the winding road and the woodland. 
( lo^e at their sides their c hildren ran. and urged on the oven. 
While in their little hand . some fragments of playthings. 






E VA NGELINE. 109 

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; and there on the sea-beach 
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the peasants. 
All day long between the shore and the ships did the boats ply ; 
All day long the wains came laboring down from the village. 
Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to his setting, 
Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums from the churchyard. 
Thither the women and children thronged. On a sudden the church-doors 
Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching in gloomy procession 
Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Acadian farmers. 
Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their homes and their country, 
Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are weary and wayworn, 
So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants descended 
Down from the church to the shore, amid their wives and their daughters. 
Foremost the young men came ; and, raising together their voices, 
Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic Missions : — 
" Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible fountain ! 
Fill our hearts this day with strength and submission and patience ! " 
Then the old men, as they marched, and the women that stood by the wayside 
Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the sunshine above them 
Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of spirits departed. 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited in silence, 
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour of affliction, — 
Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession approached her, 
And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with emotion. 
Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to meet him, 
Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his shoulder, and whispered, — 
" Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one another, 
Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen ! " 
Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly paused, for her father 
Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed was his aspect ! 
Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire from his eye, and his footstep 
Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy heart in his bosom. 
But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck and embraced him, 
Speaking words of endearment where words of comfort availed not. 
Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that mournful procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and stir of embarking. 
Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the confusion 

Wives were torn from their husbands, and mothers, too late, saw their children 
Left on the land, extending their arms, with wildest entreaties. 
So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel carried, 
While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood with her father. 
Half the task was not done when the sun went down, and the twilight 
Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the refluent ocean 
Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the sand-beach 
Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the slippery sea-weed. 
Farther back in the midst of the household goods and the wagons, 
Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, 
All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels near them, 
Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian farmers. 
Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellowing ocean, 
Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, and leaving 
Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of the, sailors. 
Then, as the night descended, the herds returned from their pastures ; 



no EVAXGELIXE. 

Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk from their udders ; 
Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known bars of the farm-yard, — 
Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the hand of the milkmaid. 
Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church i inded, 

Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no lij the window 

But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires had been kindled, 
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the in the tempest. 

Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces were gathered, 
ces of women were heard, and of men, and the cr children, 

ard from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth in I sh, 

Wandered the faithful priest, coi and b! and cheering, 

> unto shipwrecked Paul 
Thus he approached the place where I with her father, 

And in the rlicke. :u beheld the face of the old man, 

d and hoi'. wan, and without either th< I emotion, 

E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands have been taken. 
ily Evangeline with v. d caresses to cheer him, 

ily offered hit: I he moved not. he looked not, he spake not, 

:h a vacant stare. i at the flickering fire-light 

.V .' " murmured the priest, in tone on. 

re he fain would I id, but his heart was full, and his accents 

ind paused on his !ips. as the feet of a child on a threshold, 
If -lied by the scene he . and the awful presence ow. 

ntly, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of the maiden, 

.lrful eyes to the silent stars that above them 
ved on their way, unperturbed by the if mortals, 

en sat he down at her side, and they wept together in silence. 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn the blood-red 
on climbs the crystal walls of h< r the horiz< 

an-like stretci 1 hands upon mountain and meadow, 

the rivers, and piling huge shai 
r and ever broader it gleamed on t!. 

ed on the sky and the that lay in the roadstead. 

Columns of shining of flame were 

rust throug he quivering hands of a martyr. 

\ as the wind • burning thatch, and. uplifting, 

Whirled them aloft throuf m a hundred house-tops 

Started the sheeted smoke with Hashes of flame intermingled. 

These things beheld in d the crowd on the shore and on shipboard. 

at first the ':. then i '>ud in tin- ish, 

" We shall behold no more our homes in the village of ( irand-Prd 

id on * sudden the a i to crow in the farm-yam 

Thinking the day had dawned : and anon the lowing of cattle 

the evening breeze, by the barking ipted. 

id, such as startles tl encampments 

r in the western prairies or forests that skirt t' 
When the wild h ghted sweep by with the hirlwind, 

( >r the loud bellowing herds of bur ush to the riv< 

rod that arose on the night, as the herds and the hor 
;e through their folds and fences, and madly rushed o'er the mi 

•erwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the priest and the maiden 
Ga^ed on the scene of terror that reddened and widened before them ; 



EVANGELINE. in 

And as they turned at length to speak to their silent companion, 

Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched abroad on the sea-shore 

Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had departed. 

Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the maiden 

Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her terror. 

Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on his bosom. 

Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious slumber ; 

And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a multitude near her. 

Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully gazing upon her, 

Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest compassion. 

Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the landscape, 

Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the faces around her, 

And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering senses. 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the people, — 

" Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier season 

Brings us again to our homes from the unknown land of our exile, 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the churchyard." 

Such were the words of the priest. And there in haste by the seaside, 

Having the glare of the burning village for funeral torches, 

But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of Grand-Pre. 

And as the voice of the priest repeated the service of sorrow, 

Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast congregation, 

Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar with the dirges. 

'T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste of the ocean, 

With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and hurrying landward. 

Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of embarking ; 

And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of the harbor, 

Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the village in ruins. 

PART THE SECOND. 

i. 

Many a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pre, 

When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed, 

Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile, 

Exile without an end, and without an example in story. 

Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed ; 

Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from the northeast 

Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of Newfoundland. 

Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city, 

From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, — 

From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father of Waters 

Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down to the ocean, 

Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mammoth. 

Friends they sought and homes ; and many, despairing, heart-broken, 

Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a fireside. 

Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the churchyards. 

Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered, 

Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things. 

Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her extended, 

Dieary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway 

Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered before her, 

Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned, 

As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by 



iia EVAXGELIXE. 

Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine. 

Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, unfinished ; 

As if a morning of June, with all its music and sunshine. 

Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly descended 

Into the east again, from whence it late had arisen. 

Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever within her, 

ed by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit, 
She would commence again her endless search and endeavor ; 

netimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses and tombstones, 
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its bosom 
He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him. 

netimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper, 
Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward. 
Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her beloved and known him, 
lint it was I \ in some far- off place or forgotten. 

briel Lajeunesse ! " they said ; "O yes ! we have seen him. 
II was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have g<>ne to the prairies; 
Coureurs-des-I'.ois arc they, and famous hunters and trappei 

I ibriel Lajeunesse ! " a lid other I we have seen him. 

II -ur in the lowlands of Louisiana." 

Then would they say, " I tild ! why dream and wait for him longer? 

Are there not Other youth I ibriel ? others 

i have heal nder and true, and spirits as loyal ? 

Here ii Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee 
y a tedious year; come, give him thy hand and be happy! 
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tr< 
Then would Evangeline ansv renely but sadly, lk I cannot ! 

Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere, 
when the heart goes before, lik«- a lamp, and illumines the pathway, 

ay things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness." 
the priest, her friend and fathei 

I, with a smile, " ' ) daughter ! thy Cod thus speaketh within thee ! 
Talk not of wasted affecti m never was wasted ; 

If it enrich not the he urning 

1; to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment ; 
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. 
Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy work of affection ! 

row and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. 
Therefore accomplish thy labor oflove, till the heart is made godlike, 
Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven !" 

• ered by the- good man's word-, Evangeline labored and waited. 

Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean. 

But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered, " Despair not I " 
Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discomfort, 
barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existent 
I,. < I Muse ' to follow the wanderer's footsteps; — 
Not through each devious path, each changeful year of existence ; 
But as I traveller follows a streamlet's course through the valley : 

from its margin at times, and seeing the gleam of its water 
Here and there, in some open space, and at intervals only ; 

n drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that conceal it, 
Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur ; 
Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it reaches an outlet. 



EVANGELINE. n 3 

ii. 

It was the month of May. Far down the Beautiful River, 

Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the Wabash, 

Into the golden stream of the broad and swift Mississippi, 

Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Acadian boatmen. 

It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from the shipwrecked 

Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating together, 

Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a common misfortune ; 

Men and women and children, who, guided by hope or by hearsay, 

Sought for their kith and their kin among the few-acred farmers 

On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair Opelousas. 

With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the Father Felician. 

Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness sombre with forests, 

Day after day they glided adown the turbulent river ; 

Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped on its borders. 

Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, where plumelike 

Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they swept with the current, 

Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery sand-bars 

Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves of their margin, 

Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of pelicans waded. 

Level the landscape grew, and along the shores of the river, 

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant gardens, 

Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabins and dove-cots. 

They were approaching the region where reigns perpetual summer, 

Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of orange and citron, 

Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the eastward. 

They, too, swerved from their course ; and, entering the Bayou of Plaquemine, 

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious waters, 

Which, like a network of steel, extended in every direction. 

Over their heads the towering and tenebrous boughs of the cypress 

Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid-air 

Waved like banners that hang on the walls of ancient cathedrals. 

Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save by the herons 

Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning at sunset. 

Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with demoniac laughter. 

Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and gleamed on the water, 

Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sustaining the arches, 

Down through whose broken vaults it fell as through chinks in a ruin. 

Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all things around them ; 

And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of wonder and sadness, — 

Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot be compassed. 

As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies, 

Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa, 

So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, 

Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom has attained it. 

But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, that faintly 

Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on through the moonlight. 

It was the thought of her brain that assumed the shape of a phantom. 

Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wandered before her, 

And every stroke of the oar now brought him nearer and nearer. 

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose one of the oarsmen, 
And, as a signal sound, if others like them peradventure 
Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew a blast on his bugle. 

8 



ii4 EVANGELINE, 

Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors leafy the blast rang, 
Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues to the fore 
Soundless above them the banners of moss just stirred to the music. 
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the di 

r the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant branches 
But not a voice replied ; no answer came from the darkiu 
And, when the echoes had c^ i was the silence. 

Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed through the midnight, 
Silent at times. 1 1 . png familiar Canadian boat-songs, 

Such as the of old on their own Acadian ri\ 

While through the night were heard the mysterious sounds of the desert, 
Far off, — indistinct. — as of wave or wind in the fore 
Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of the grim alligator. 

Thus ere another noon they emerged from the shades ; and before them 
Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Ati hafal.i 
er-lilies in myriads rocked on tl it undu 

Made by th lendent in beauty, the lotus 

Lifted h mi above the heads ofthe boatmen. 

I the air with tl magnolia I as, 

I with the heat of no. m ; and numb .Ivan islai 

:it and thickly eml 1 with blossoming he< i roses, 

r to whose shores they glided along, invited to slumber. 
>n by the t their v. tided. 

Under the I hita willows, that grew by tlie mar- in, 

•Iv their l<<>at was moored ; and scattered about on th ird, 

with their midnight toil, the weary travellers slumber 
r them vast and high extended the ur. 

the trumpet-flower and the grape-vine 
llin. ladder '"ft like the ladder ol 

( )n whose pendulous 

1 from i i) to blossom. 

he slumbered beneath it. 

Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an opening heaven 
I iited her s,.ul in sleep with the glory of region ,al. 

irer an : the numb 

. swift boat, th the water, 

i (1 on its t "in se by th and trapp 

rthward its prow w.i> turned, to the land ofthe bison and b< .vr. 
the helm sat a youth, with countenance thoughtful and « rn. 

trie and thadowed his brow, and a sadne 

Somewhat beyond hi bos was legibly writtt 

riel was i:. who, weary with waiting, unhappy and n 

• in the Western wilds oblivion i arrow, 

irtly they glided along. Close under the Ie<- ofthe island, 

Hut by the opposite bank, and behind a d ofpalmetl 

So that tb not the boat, where it 1 i I in the willows, 

All undisturbed by the dash ofthe; and unseen, w rs, 

f ( rod was there none t<> imbei Ulg man' 

ftly the way. hi. hade of a cloud on tti 

Mind of their oars on the tholes had died in th ice, 

from a ' he sleepers aw laiden 

I with a sigh to the friendly priest, " < > l ath< i in I 

Something that near me Gabriel wandet 



EVANGELINE. n S 

Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition ? 

Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my spirit? " 

Then, with a blush, she added, " Alas for my credulous fancy ! 

Unto ears like thine such words as these have no meaning." 

But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled as he answered, — 

" Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they to me without meaning. 

Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats on the surface 

Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the anchor is hidden. 

Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions. 

Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the southward, 

On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. Maur and St. Martin. 

There the long-wandering bride shall be given again to her bridegroom, 

There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and his sheepfold. 

Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests of fruit-trees ; 

Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest of heavens 

Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls of the forest. 

They who dwell there have named it the Eden of Louisiana." 

With these words of cheer they arose and continued their journey. 
Softly the evening came. The sun from the western horizon 
Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the landscape ; 
Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and forest 
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and mingled together. 
Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of silver, 
Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the motionless water. 
Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible sweetness. 
Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains of feeling 
Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and waters around her. 
Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, 
Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, 
Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, 
That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. 
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then soaring to madness 
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. 
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation ; 
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, 
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops 
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. 
With such a prelude as this, and hearts that throbbed with emotion, 
Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows through the green Opelousas, 
And, through the amber air, above the crest of the woodland, 
Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neighboring dwelling ; — 
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant lowing of cattle. 

in. 

Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by oaks, from whose branches 

Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe flaunted, 

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets at Yule-tide, 

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herdsman. A garden 

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant blossoms, 

Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself was of timbers 

Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted together. 

Large and low was the roof; and on slender columns supported, 

Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious veranda, 



n6 EVAKGELIXE. 

Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended around it. 

At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the garden, 

Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual symbol, 

Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions of rivals. 

Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow and sunshine 

Ran near the tops of the tree? ; but the house itself was in shadow, 

And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly expanding 

Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke rose. 

In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran a pathway 

Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of the limitless prairie, 

Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly descending. 

Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy can 

Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless calm in the tropics, 

Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of grape-vines. 

Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf of the prairie, 
Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and stirrups, 
a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of deerskin. 

I id and brown was the face that from under the Spanish sombrero 

•d on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look of its master. 
Round about him were numberless herds of kine, that were grazing 

?tly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory freshm 
hat uprose from the river, and spread itself over the landscape. 
vly lifting the horn that lump at his side, and expanding 
Fully his broad, deep client, he blew a blast, th.it resoum 
Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp air of the evening. 
Suddenly out oftl I the long white horns of the cattle 

■ like flake m on t! currents of ocean. 

Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing ru^h>-d o'er the prairie, 

1 the whole m one a cloud, a shade in the distant 

Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, through the gate of the garden 

he the forms of the ; rid the maiden advani meet him. 

Suddenly down from his horse he Sprang in ama/einent, and forward 
Rushed with extended arms and ex< lamations of wonder ; 
When • held hi nized Basil the blacksmith. 

trty his welcome v. 

re in an arbor of roses with endless question and ansf 
ve they vent to their hearts, and rent-wed their friendly embraces. 
Laughing and weeping bv turns, or sitting silent and thoughtful. 

htful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark doubts and misgivings 
'c o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat emban 
•ke the silence and said, " \{ une by the Atchafalaj 

II m have you nowhere e n count e red my Gabriel's boat on the bayous?" 

reline's face at the words of Basil a shade ; 
I came into her eyes, and she said, with a tremulous accent, 

• ibriel gone ? " and, concealing her \mc on his shoulder, 
All her o'erburdencd heart gave way, and pf and lamented. 

! Basil said, — and his voice grew blithe as he said it, — 
heer, my child : it is only to-day he depart 
I lish t> ' he his left me alone with my herds and mv horses. 
Moody and restless crown, and tried and troubled, his spirit 

Id no longer endure the calm of this quiet ce. 

Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowh: 
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his troubles, 



EVANGELINE. u 7 

He at length had become so tedious to men and to maidens, 
Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought me, and sent him 
Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with the Spaniards. 
Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the Ozark Mountains, 
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping the beaver. 
Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the fugitive lover; 
He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the streams are against him. 
Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew of the morning 
We will follow him fast, and bring him back to his prison." 

Then glad voices were heard, and up from the banks of the river, 
Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael the fiddler. 
Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god on Olympus, 
Having no other care than dispensing music to mortals. 
Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his fiddle. 
" Long live Michael," they cried, " our brave Acadian minstrel ! " 
As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; and straightway 
Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greeting the old man 
Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, enraptured, 
Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and gossips, 
Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers and daughters. 
Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci-devant blacksmith, 
All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal demeanor; 
Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil and the climate, 
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were his who would take them; 
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would go and do likewise. 
Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the breezy veranda, 
Entered the hall of the house, where already the supper of Basil 
Waited his late return ; and they rested and feasted together. 

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness descended. 
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape with silver, 
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; but within doors, 
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in the glimmering lamplight. 
Then from his station aloft, at the head of the table, the herdsman 
Poured forth his heart and his wine together in endless profusion. 
Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet Natchitoches tobacco, 
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and smiled as they listened : — 
"Welcome once more, my friends, who long have been friendless and homeless, 
Welcome once more to a home, that is better perchance than the old one ! 
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the rivers ; 
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the farmer. 

Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, as a keel through the water. 
All the year round the orange-groves are in blossom ; and grass grows 
More in a single night than a whole Canadian summer. 
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and unclaimed in the prairies ; 
Here, too, lands maybe had for the asking, and forests of timber 
With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed into houses. 
After your houses are built, and your fields are yellow with harvests, 
No King George of England shall drive you away from your homesteads, 
Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealing your farms and your cattle." 
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud from his nostrils, 
While his huge, brown hand came thundering down on the table, 
So that the guests all started ; and Father Felician, astounded, 
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half-way to his nostrils. 



xi3 



El'AXGELIXE. 



the brave Basil resumed, and his words were milder and gayer: — 

ily beware of the fever, my friends, beware of the 
! it is not like that of our cold Acadian clim. 
Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck in a nutshell 
Then there were voices heard at the door, an aching 

Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the breezy veranda. 
It was the neighboring Creoles and small A plantl 

Who had been summoned all to the hi Ba :1 the ! an. 

Merry the met is of ancient comr 

:ul clasped friend in his arms ; and they win) before were as strangers, 
i exile, becam iends t<> each other, 

awn by the gentle bond ■ tnmon country togethi 

Hut in the neignbi ili a strain 

m the Michael 

ke up all further speech. \ delight 

All thin. >tten beside, tl to the maddening 

Whirl of the dizzy dai .<1 swayed to the mu 

unlike, with beam md the menta. 

inwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the priest and the herdsman 

id futui 
\\ A i thin li 

and loud in ll the mil 

indofth irrepre 

( t. and un forth into i ien. 

iiitiful was the night. Behind the black wall of the I 

. summit with silver, arose the moon. On the n 
ind there throi branches a tremulous gleam of the moonlight, 

Like th t thoughts of love on a da d and devi it. 

I round about her. the manifold floM 
lured out tluir souU in odotS, that were th 

iv, like a silvi isi.m. 

Fuller of fi ; than the) th shad \vs, 

the in and the magi* al moonlight 

med to inundate 1 ! with ii 

of the • es, 

th to t! 
it it lay, w upon it, and fire-flies 

1 ad floating aw iy in mine , infinite numb 

: her hc.id the he thoi d in the h 

Shone <»n the i man. who had I to marvel and worship, 

when a blazing comet w on the walls of thai l 

As if a hand had appeared and written upon them. " Upharsin. 
And the s,>ul of the maiden, between tl and th< 

Wandered alone, and she cried, rabriell Omj 1! 

thou s.. near unto me, and yel I i innot behold tin 

Art thoi ir unto me. and yet tl 

Ah ! h n thy feet have trod this p ith to the pi 

Ah ! h n thine eyes h i the wooalandi around n 

ith this oak, returning from labi 
Thou hast lain flown to rest, and to dream of me in thy slumtx 

Wl. • hold, tins.,- .inns be folded about tl 

I id and sudden and no ir tl 

Bute in the i . and anon, thj the neighboring thickets, 










EVANGELINE. ng 

Farther and farther away it floated and dropped into silence. 

" Patience ! " whispered the oaks from oracular caverns of darkness ; 

Arid, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, "To-morrow!" 

Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers of the garden 
Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and anointed his tresses 
With the delicious balm that they bore in their vases of crystal. 
" Farewell ! " said the priest, as he stood at the shadowy threshold ; 
" See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his fasting and famine, 
And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the bridegroom was coming.'* 
" Farewell !" answered the maiden, and, smiling, with Basil descended 
Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen already were waiting. 
Thus beginning their journey with morning, and sunshine, and gladness, 
Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was speeding before them, 
Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the desert. 
Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that succeeded, 
Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or river, 
Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but vague and uncertain 
Rumors alone were their guides through a wild and desolate country ; 
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of Adayes, 

Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from the garrulous landlord, 
That on the day before, with horses and guides and companions, 
Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the prairies. 

IV. 

Far in the West there lies a desert land, where the mountains 
Tift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits. 
Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the gorge, like a gateway, 
Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's wagon, 
Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and Owyhee. 
Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind-river Mountains, 
Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps the Nebraska ; 
And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the Spanish sierras, 
Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the wind of the desert, 
Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend to the ocean, 
Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn vibrations. 
Spreading between these streams are the wondrous, beautiful prairies, 
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and sunshine, 
Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple amorphas. 
Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the elk and the roebuck; 
Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of riderless horses ; 
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are weary with travel ; 
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children, 
Staining the desert with blood ; and above their terrible war-trails 
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture, 
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle, 
By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the heavens. 
Here and there rise smokes from the camps of these savage marauders; 
Here and there rise groves from the margins of swift-running rivers; 
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk of the desert, 
Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by the brookside, 
And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline heaven, 
Like the protecting hand of God inverted above them. 

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark Mountains, 
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers behind him. 



120 



EVAXGELIXE. 



Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden and Basil 
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to o'ertake him. 
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw. the smoke of his camp-fire 
Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; but at nightfall, 
When they had reached the place, they found only embers and ashes. 
And, though their hearts were sad at times and their bodies were weary, 
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Morgana 
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and vanished before them. 

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there silently entered 
Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose feati 

re deep trace- row, ai it a- her sorrow. 

She w twnee woman returning home t<> ber people, 

m the far-off hunt I .inam.1. 

ere her Canadian husband, a Coun n murdered. 

ched were their li and warm I friendliest welcome 

( iav<- they, with words of ( - them 

( >n the 1 <>n the embi 

■ when their m and Ba npanioi 

rn with the 1<»: i and t! ind the 

und, a- the qu Jit 

md tin ap in their biankcts, 

at, 

All ' ^es. 

it the tali-, ami ;■> know that anotll 
n had loved and had l>« 

by pity and v tfStom 

pleased tfa wno lu 

in tun I ail it-- 

:e with wonder tl ■. ncc sa c had ended 

• 

n, 

w.nn, 

she kx 
n, in tho* 

i , who w 

lit, 

Til 

anin i 

• ps of tl tl 

od will 

with tl. 
As the cold, poia 









and. 



i.eart, I 

I the sv. 









E VA NGELINE. 121 

It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits 

Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt for a moment 

That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom. 

With this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished. 

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed ; and the Shawnee 
Said, as they journeyed along, V On the western slope of these mountains 
Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission. 
Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus ; 
Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain, as they hear him." 
Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered, 
" Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us ! " 
Thither they turned their steeds ; and behind a spur of the mountains, 
Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of voices, 
And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a river, 
Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit Mission. 
Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the village, 
Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened 
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grape-vines, 
Looked with its agonized face on the multitude kneeling beneath it. 
This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches 
Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, 
Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs of the branches. 
Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer approaching, 
Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions. 
But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen 
Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower, 
Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them 
Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression, 
Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest, 
And, with words of kindness, conducted them into his wigwam. 
There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize-ear 
Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher. 
Soon was their story told ; and the priest with solemnity answered : — 
" Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated 
On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, 
Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and continued his journey ! " 
Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness ; 
But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow-flakes 
Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have departed. 
' Far to the north he has gone," continued the priest ; " but in autumn, 
When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission." 
Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and submissive, 
"Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted." 
So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes on the morrow^ 
Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions, 
Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other, — 
Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of maize that were springing 
Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her, 
Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and forming 
Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels. 
Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens 
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened a lover, 



122 ' EVAXGELIXE. 

But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the cornfield. 

Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover. 

" Patience ! " the priest would say ; " have faith, and thy prayer will be answered ! 

Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow. 

See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet ; 

This is the compass-rlower, that the ringer of God has planted 

Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's journey 

( )ver the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the desert. 

Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of passion, 

Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller of fragrance, 

But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their odor is deadly. 

Only this humble plant can guide ih here, and hereafter 

Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with the dews of nepenthe." 

So came the autumn, and passed, and the winter, — yet Gabriel came not ; 
Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the robin and bluebird 
Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel came not. 
Bui on the breath of the summer winds a rumor was wafted 
Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blossom. 
Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan forests, 
Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw River. 
And, with returning guides, thai sought the lakes of St Lawrence, 

ing a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the Mission. 
When over weary ways, by long and peri OUS inarches, 
She had attained at length the depths of the Michigan forests, 
Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen to ruin ! 

Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in seasons and places 
Divers and distant far was Been the wandering maiden ; — 
Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian Missions, 
N<»w in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the army", 

hided hamlets, in towns and populous cities. 
Like a phantom she came, and passed away unremembered. 
Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey ; 
led Was she and ol<j, when in disappointment it ended. 
ich succeeding year stole something away from her beauty, 
Leaving behind it. broader and < OOm and the shadow. 

Then there ap] -.ul faint streal ray o'er her forehead, 

D of another life, that broke o'er her earthly horizon, 
As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the morning. 

v. 

In that delightful land which is washed by the Delaware's waters, 
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of 1'enn the apostle, 
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the city he founded. 
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the emblem of beauty, 
And the streets still re-echo the names of the trees of the forest, 

i they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested. 
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed, an exile, 
Finding among the children of I'enii a home and a country. 
There old Rene Leblanc had died; and when he departed, 
Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants. 

nething at least there was in the friendly st i the city, 

Something that spake to her heart, and made her no l< i stranger; 

And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of the Quakers, 



E VA NGELINE. 123 

For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country, 

Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and sisters. 

So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed endeavor. 

Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncomplaining, 

Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her thoughts and her footsteps. 

As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the morning 

Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below us, 

Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and hamlets, 

So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her, 

Dark no. longer, but all illumined with love ; and the pathway 

Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair in the distance. 

Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his image, 

Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld him, 

Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence and absence. 

Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was not. 

Over him years had no power ; he was not changed, but transfigured ; 

He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and not absent ; 

Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to others, 

This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had taught her. 

So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous spices, 

Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air with aroma. 

Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to follow 

Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her Saviour. 

Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; frequenting 

Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the city, 

Where distress and want concealed themselves from the sunlight, 

Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished neglected. 

Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated 

Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in the city, 

High at some lonely window he saw the light of her taper. 

Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow through the suburbs 

Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits for the market, 

Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its watchings. 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city, 
Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of wild pigeons, 
Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their craws but an acorn. 
And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of September, 
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow, 
So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural margin, 
Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of existence. 
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor; 
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his anger ; — 
Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor attendants, 
Crept away to die-in the almshouse, home of the homeless. 
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of meadows and woodlands ; — 
Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gateway and wicket 
Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem to echo 
Softly the words of the Lord : — " The poor ye always have with you. 
Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of Mercy. The dying 
Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to behold there 
Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with splendor, 
Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and apostles, 
Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a distance. 



•>■> 



i2 4 EVAXGELIXE. 

Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial, 
Intu whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter. 

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, deserted and silent, 
Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the almshouse. 
Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in the garden ; 
And she paused on her way to gather the fairest among them, 
That the dying once more might rejoice in their fragrance and beauty. 
Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, cooled by the east-wind, 
Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from the belfry of Christ Church, 
While, intermingled with these, across the meadows were wafted 
Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in their church at Wicaco. 
Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour on her spirit ; 

lething within her said, " At length thy trials are ended " : 
And, with light in her looks, she entered the chambers of sickness. 

selessly moved about the assiduous, careful attendants, 
Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, and in silence 
I >sing the sightless eyes of the dead, and concealing their faces, 
Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow by the roadside. 
Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline entered, 
Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed, for her presence 
Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the walls of a prison. 
And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, 
Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever. 
Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night-time; 
Vacant their places were, or filled already by strangers. 

ddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, 
Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while a shudder 
Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowerets dropped from her fingers, 

I from her eves and cheeks the light and bloom of the morning. 
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, 
That the dying heard it, and started up from their pillows. 
On the pallet before her was stretched the form of an old man. 
Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded his temples ; 
But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a moment 

tned to assume once more the forms of its earlier manhood ; 

ire wont to be changed the faces of those who are dying. 
Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the fe\ 
As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had besprinkled its portals, 
That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and pass over. 
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay. and his spirit exhausted 
Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths in the darkness, 
Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sink': 
Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied reverberations, 

•d he that cry of pain, and through the hush that succeeded 
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and saint-like, 
" ( iabriel ! my beloved ! " and died away into silence. 
Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of his childhood; 
1 ii Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among them. 
Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walking under their shadow, 

in the days of her youth. I va geline rose in his vision. 
Tears came into his eyes ; and i lifted his eyelids. 

Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by his bedside. 
Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the accents unuttered 



DEDICATION. 125 

Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his tongue would have spoken. 

Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, 

Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her bosom. 

Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly sank into da.rkness, 

As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. 

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, 
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, 
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! 
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, 
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, " Father, I thank thee ! " 



Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away from its shadow, 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping. 
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic churchyard, 
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them, 
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever, 
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy, 
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors, 
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey ! 

Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the shade of its branches 
Dwells another race, with other customs and language. 
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty Atlantic 
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from exile 
Wandered back to their native land to die in its bos^pn. 
In the fisherman's cot the wheel aiid the loom are still busy ; 
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their kirtles of homespun, 
And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, 
While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest. 



THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE. 

1 849. 

DEDICATION. 



As one who, walking in the twilight 
gloom, 
Hears round about him voices as it 
darkens, 
And seeing not the forms from which 
they come, 
Pauses from time to time, and turns 
and hearkens ; 

So walking here in twilight, O my 
friends ! 
I hear your voices, softened by the 
distance, 



And pause, and turn to listen, as each 
sends 
His words of friendship, comfort, and 
assistance. 

If any thought of mine, or sung or told, 
Has ever given delight or consolation, 

Ye have repaid me back a thousand-fold, 
By every friendly sign and salutation. 

Thanks for the sympathies that ye have 

shown ! 
Thanks for each kindly word, each 

silent token, 



126 



BY THE SEASIDE. 



That teaches me, when seeming most 
alone, 
Friends are around us, though no 
word be spoken. 

Kind messages, that pass from land to 
land ; 
Kind letters, that betray the heart's 
deep history, 
In which we feel the pressure of a 
hand, — 
One touch of fire, — and all the rest 
is mystery ! 

The pleasant books, that silently among 
Our household treasures take familiar 
places, 
And are to us as if a living tongue 
Spake from the printed leaves or pic- 
tured faces ! 

Perhaps on earth I never shall behold, 
With eye of sense, your outward form 
and semblance ; 
Therefore to me ye never will grow old, 
But live forever young in my remem- 
brance. 

Never grow old, nor change, nor pass 
away ! ** 

Your gentle voices will flow on forever, 



When life grows bare and tarnished 
with decay, 
As through a leafless landscape flows 
a river. 

Not chance of birth or place has made 
us friends. 
Being oftentimes of different tongues 
and nations, 
But the endeavor for the selfsame 
ends, 
With the same hopes, and fears, and 
aspirations. 

Therefore I hope to join your seaside 
walk, 
Saddened, and mostly silent, with 
emotion ; 
Not interrupting with intrusive talk 
The grand, majestic symphonies of 
ocean. 

Therefore I hope, as no unwelcome 
guest, 
At yourwarm fireside, when the lamps 
are lighted, 
To have my place reserved among the 
rest, 
Nor stand as one unsought and un- 
invited ! 



BY THE SEASIDE. 



THE BUILDING 
SHIP. 



OF THE 



" Build me straight, O worthy Master ! 

Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
That shall laugh at all disaster, 

And with wave and whirlwind wres- 
tle ! " 

The merchant's word 

Delighted the Master heard ; 

For his heart was in his work, and the 

heart 
Giveth grace unto every Art. 

A quiet smile played round his lips, 

As the eddies and dimples of the tide 

Play round the bows of ships, 

That steadily at anchor ride. 

And with a voice that was full of glee, 

He answered, " Erelong we will launch 

A vessel as goodly, and strong, and 

stanch, 
As ever weathered a wintry sea ! " 



And first with nicest skill and art, 
Perfect and finished in every part, 
A little model the Master wrought, 
Which should be to the larger plan 
What the child is to the man, 
Its counterpart in miniature ; 
That with a hand more swift and sure 
The greater labor might be brought 
To answer to his inward thought. 
And as he labored, his mind ran o'er 
The various ships that were built of yore, 
And above them all, and strangest of all 
Towered the Great Harry, crank and 

tall, 
Whose picture was hanging on the wall, 
With bows and stern raised high in air, 
And balconic-. hanging here and there, 
And signal lanterns and flags afloat, 
And eight round towers, like those that 

frown 
From some old castle, looking down 
Upon the drawbridge and the moat. 






THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 



127 



And he said with a smile, "Our ship, 

I wis, 
Shall be of another form than this ! " 

It was of another form, indeed; 
Built for freight, and yet for speed, 
A beautiful and gallant craft ; 
Broad in the beam, that the stress of 

the blast, 
Pressing down upon sail and mast r 
Might not the sharp bows overwhelm; 
Broad in the beam, but sloping aft 
With graceful curve and slow degrees, 
That she might be docile to the helm, 
And that the currents of parted seas, 
Closing behind, with mighty force, 
Might aid and not impede her course. 

In the ship-yard stood the Master, 
With the model of the vessel, 

That should laugh at all disaster, 
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ! 

Covering many a rood of ground, 
t Lay the timber piled around ; 

Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, 
And scattered here and there, with 

these, 
The knarred and crooked cedar knees ; 
Brought from regions far away, 
From Pascagoula's sunny bay, 
And the banks of the roaring Roanoke ! 
Ah ! what a wondrous thing it is 
To note how many wheels of toil 
One thought, one word, can set in 

motion ! 
There 's not a ship that sails the ocean, 
But every climate, every soil, 
Must bring its tribute, great or small, 
And help to build the wooden wall ! 

The sun was rising o'er the sea, 
And long the level shadows lay, 
As if they, too, the beams would be 
Of some great, airy argosy, 
Framed and launched in a single day. 
That silent architect, the sun, 
Had hewn and laid them every one, 
Ere the work of man was yet begun. 
Beside the Master, when he spoke, 
A youth, against an anchor leaning, 
Listened, to catch his slightest meaning. 
Only the long waves, as they broke 
In ripples on the pebbly beach, 
Interrupted the old man's speech. 



Beautiful they were, in sooth, 
The old man and the fiery youth ! 
The old man, in whose busy brain 
Many a ship that sailed the main 
Was modelled o'er and o'er again ; — 
The fiery youth, who was to be 
The heir of his dexterity, 
The heir of his house, and his daugh- 
ter's hand, 
When he had built and launched from 

land 
What the elder head had planned. 

"Thus,^ said he, "will we build this 

ship ! 
Lay square the blocks upon the slip, 
And follow well this plan of mine. 
Choose the timbers with greatest care ; 
Of all that is unsound beware ; 
For only what is sound and strong 
To this vessel shall belong. 
Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine 
Here together shall combine. 
A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, 
And the Union be her name ! 
For the day that gives her to the sea 
Shall give my daughter unto thee ! " 

The Master's word 

Enraptured the young man heard ; 

And as he turned his face aside, 

With a look of joy and a thrill of pride, 

Standing before 

Her father's door, 

He saw the form of his promised bride. 

The sun shone on her golden hair, 

And her cheek was glowing fresh and 

fair, 
With the breath of morn and the soft 

sea air. 
Like a beauteous barge was she, 
Still at rest on the sandy beach, 
Just beyond the billow's reach ; 
But he 
Was the restless, seething, stormy sea ! 

Ah, how skilful grows the hand 
That obeyeth Love's command ! 
It is the heart, and not the brain, 
That to the highest doth attain, 
And he who followeth Love's behest 
Far excelleth all the rest ! 

Thus with the rising of the sun 
Was the noble task begun, 



123 



BY THE SEASIDE. 



And soon throughout the ship-yard's 

bounds 
Were heard the intermingled sounds 
Of axes and of mallets, plied 
With vigorous arms on every side ; 
Plied so deftly and so well, 
That, ere the shadows of evening fell, 
The keel of oak for a noble ship, 
Scarfed and bolted, straight and strong, 
s lying ready, and stretched along 
The blocks, well placed upon the slip. 
Happy, thrice happy, every one 
Who sees his labor well begun, 
And not perplexed and multiplied, 
By idly waiting for time and tide ! 

And when the hot, long day was o'er. 
The young man at the M door 

with the maiden calm and still. 
And within the porch, a little m< 
Removed beyond the evening chill, 
father sat, and told them t.i 
srccks in the great September gales, 
he Spanish Main, 
And >hips that never came back again, 
The chance and change of a sailor's 

life. 
Want and plenty, rest and strife, 
roving fancy, like the wind, 
That nothing can stay and nothing can 

bind, 
And the magic charm of foreign lands, 
With shadows of palms, and shining 

sands, 
Where the tumbling surf, 

the coral 1 Madagascar, 

Washes the feet of the swarthy Lascar, 
As he lies alone and asleep on the turf. 
And the trembling maiden held her 

breath 
At the tales of that awful, pitiless sea, 
With all its terror and mystery, 
The dim. dark sea, so like unto Death, 
Thai divides and yet unites mankind ! 
And whenever the old man paused, a 

am 
From the bowl of his pipe would awhile 

illume 
The silent group in the twilight gloom. 
And thoughtful faces, as in a dream; 
And for a moment one might mark 
What had been hidden by the dark. 
That the head of the maiden lay at 1 
Tenderly, on the young man's brc 



Day by day the vessel grew. 

With timbers fashioned strong and true, 

Stemson and keelson and stevnson- 

knee, 
Till, framed with perfect symmetry, 
A skeleton ship rose up to view ! 
And around the bow s and along the - 
The heavy hammers and mallets plied, 
Till after many a week, at length, 
Wonderful for form and strength, 
Sublime in its enormous bulk, 
Loomed aloft the shadowy hulk ! 
And around it columns of smoke, up- 
wreathing. 
Rose from the boiling, bubbling, seeih- 
ing 
Iron, that glowed, 
And overflowed 
With the black tar, heated for the 

sheathing. 
And amid the clamors 
clattering hammers. 
Me who listened heard now and then 
The song of the Master and his men : — 

" Build me straight, () worthy Master, 
Stanch and Btrong, a goodly vessel, 

That shall laugh at all di 

And with wave and whirlwind wres- 
tle I" 

With oaken brace and copper band, 
Lay the rudder on the sand, 
That, like a thought, should have con- 
trol 
Over the movement of the whole ; 
And near it the anchor whose giant 

hand 
Would reach down and grapple with 

the land, 
And immovable and fast 
I lold the great ship against the beU 

ins l)l.i 
And at the bows nn image stood, 
By a cunnin t t arved in w< 

With lobes of white, that far behind 
Seemed to \<r fluttering in the wind. 
It was not shaped in a (lassie mould, 
Mot HI iniih or ( rodd( 'id, 

( h Naiad 1 .an the WSti 

I'.ut modelled from thi 

ter ! 
On many a dreary and misty night, 
'T will be seen by the ravs of the signal 
light, 



THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. 



129 



Speeding along through the rain and the 

dark, 
Like a ghost in its snow-white sark, 
The pilot of some phantom bark, 
Guiding the vessel, in its flight. 
By a path none other knows aright ! 
Behold, at last, 
Each tall and tapering mast 
Is swung into its place ; 
Shrouds and stays 
Holding it firm and fast ! 

Long ago, 

In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, 
When upon mountain and plain 
Lay the snow, 

They fell, — those lordly pines ! 
Those grand, majestic pines ! 
'Mid shouts and cheers 
The jaded steers, 
Panting beneath the goad, 
Dragged down the weary, winding road 
Those captive kings so straight and tall, 
To be shorn of their streaming hair, 
And, naked and bare, 
To feel the stress and the strain 
Of the wind and the reeling main, 
Whose roar 

Would remind them forevermore 
Of their native forests they should not 
see again. 

And everywhere 

The slender, graceful spars 

Poise aloft in the air, 

And at the mast-head, 

White, blue, and red, 

A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. 

Ah ! when the wanderer, lonely, friend- 
less, 

In foreign harbors shall behold 

That flag unrolled, 

'T will be as a friendly hand 

Stretched out from his native land, 

Filling his heart with memories sweet 
and endless ! 

All is finished ! and at length 
Has come the bridal day 
Of beauty and of strength. 
To-day the vessel shall be launched ! 
With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, 
And o'er the bay, 
Slowly, in all his splendors dight, 
The great sun rises to behold the sight. 

9 



The ocean old, 

Centuries old, 

Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, 

Paces restless to and fro, 

Up and down the sands of gold. 

His beating heart is not at rest ; 

And far and wide, 

With ceaseless flow, 

His beard of snow 

Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 

He waits impatient for his bride. 

There she stands, 

With her foot upon the sands, 

Decked with flags and streamers gay, 

In honor of her marriage day, 

Her snow-white signals fluttering, 

blending, 
Round her like a veil descending, 
Ready to be 
The bride of the gray old sea. 

On the deck another bride 
Is standing by her lover's side. 
Shadows from the flags and shrouds, 
Like the shadows cast by clouds, 
Broken by many a sunny fleck, 
Fall around them on the deck. 

The prayer is said, 

The service read, 

The joyous bridegroom bows his head; 

And in tears the good old Master 

Shakes the brown hand of his son, 

Kisses his daughter's glowing cheek 

In silence, for he cannot speak, 

And ever faster 

Down his own the tears begin to run. 

The worthy pastor — 

The shepherd of that wandering flock, 

That has the ocean for its wold, 

That has the vessel for its fold, 

Leaping ever from rock to rock — 

Spake, with accents mild and clear, 

Words of warning, words of cheer, 

But tedious to the bridegroom's ear. 

He knew the chart 

Of the sailor's heart, 

All its pleasures and its griefs, 

All its shallows and rocky reefs, 

All those secret currents, that flow 

With such resistless undertow, 

And lift and drift, with terrible force. 

The will from its moorings and its 

course. 
Therefore he spake, and thus said he : — 



13° 



BY THE SEASIDE. 



" Like unto ships far off at sea, 

Outward or homeward bound, are we. 

Before, behind, and all around, 

Floats and swings the horizon's bound, 

Seems at its distant rim to rise 

And climb the crystal wall of the skies, 

And then again to turn and sink, 

As if we could slide from its outer brink. 

Ah ! it is not the sea, 

It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, 

But ourselves 

That rock and rise 

With endless and uneasy motion, 

Now touching the very skies, 

Now sinking into the depths of ocean. 

Ah ! if our souls but poise and swing 

Like the compass in its brazen ring, 

r level and ever true 
To the toil and the task we have to do, 

shall sail securely, and safely reach 
The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining 

beach 
The sights we see, and the sounds we 

ar, 
Will be those of joy and not of fear 1 " 

Then the Master, 

With a gesture of command, 

Waved his hand ; 

And at the word, 

Lend and sudden there was heard, 

All around them and below, 

und of hammers, I n blow, 

Knocking away the shores and 
And sec : she 
She starts, — she moves, — she seems 

to <• 

The thrill of life alone: her k< 
And, spurning with her foot the ground, 
With one exulting us bound, 

She leaps into the ocean's arms ! 

And lo ! from the assembled crowd 
There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, 

it to tl n seemed to say, 

" fake her, ( ) bridegroom, old and gray, 
Take her to thy protecting arms. 
With all her youth and all her*, harms ! " 

\ beautiful she is I How fair 
She lies within those arms that press 
Hei form with many a soft t 
Of tenderness and watchful can 

i forth into the sea, () ship ! 
Through wind and wave, right onward 
blecr ! 



The moistened eye, the trembling lip, 
Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 

Sail forth into the sea of life, 
I I gentle, loving, trusting wife, 
And safe from all adversity 
Upon the bosom of that - 
Thy comings and thy goings be ! 
for gentleness and hue and trust 
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust ; 
And in the wreck of noble In 
Something immortal still survive 

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! 
[] on, O UNION, strong and great 1 
Humanity with all its tears. 
With all the hopes of future 
Is hanging breathless on thy fa: 
We know what Master laid thy keel, 
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of 

steel, 
Who made each mast, and sail, and rx 
What anvils rang, what hammei 

In what a forge and what a heat 

Were shaped the anchors of thy ho] 

r not each sudden sound and shock, 

of the wave and not the roi 
but the flapping of the sail, 

And not a rent made by the nil 

In spite of rock and temp >ar, 

In spite of false lights on the sh< 

Sail on, nor fear to breast the mm ! 
( Nil hearts, our hopes, are all with tl 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our 
tears, 

Our faith triumphant o'er our fe 

all with thee, — arc all with thee ! 



THE EVENING STAIL 

r above von sandy bar, 
\ ■ ti inter Sod dimmer, 

Lout lv and loi t.ir 

I igntS t! ;th a dusky glinni 

Into the ocean faint and far 

falls the trail 
And the gleam of thai 
fulgent, 

( ihrvsaor, rising oul of tl 

Showed thus ^;l« \\d thus cmu- 

lou 

vini; tli allirrh 

Forever I alous. 






SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 



131 



Thus o'er the ocean faint and far 
Trailed the gleam of his falchion 
brightly ; 

Is it a God, or is it a star 
That, entranced, I gaze on nightly ! 



THE SECRET OF THE SEA. 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me 

As I .gaze upon the sea ! 
All the old romantic legends, 

All my dreams, come back to me. 

Sails of silk and ropes of sendal, 
Such as gleam in ancient lore ; 

And the singing of the sailors, 
And the answer from the shore ! 

Most of all, the Spanish ballad 
Haunts me oft, and tarries long, 

Of the noble Count Arnaldos 
And the sailor's mystic song. 

Like the long waves on a sea-beach, 
Where the sand as silver shines, 

With a soft, monotonous cadence, 
Flow its unrhymed lyric lines ; — 

Telling how the Count Arnaldos, 
With his hawk upon his hand, 

Saw a fair and stately galley, 
Steering onward to the land ; — 

How he heard the ancient helmsman 
Chant a song so wild and clear, 

That the sailing sea-bird slowly 
Poised upon the mast to hear, 

Till his soul was full of longing, 

And he cried, with impulse strong, — 

" Helmsman ! for the love of heaven, 
Teach me, too, that wondrous song ! " 

" Wouldst thou, " — so the helmsman 
answered, 

" Learn the secret of the sea? 
Only those who brave its dangers 

Comprehend its mystery ! " 

In each sail that skims the horizon, 
In each landward-blowing breeze, 

I behold that stately galley, 

Hear those mournful melodies ; 

Till my soul is full of longing 

For the. secret of the sea, 
And the heart of the great ocean 

Sends a thrilling pulse through me. 



TWILIGHT. 

The twilight is sad and cloudy, 
The wind blows wild and free, 

And like the wings of sea-birds 
Flash the white caps of the sea. 

But in the fisherman's cottage 
Their shines a ruddier light, 

And a little face at the window 
Peers out into the night. 

Close, close it is pressed to the window, 

As if those childish eyes 
Were looking into the darkness, 

To see some form arise. 

And a woman's waving shadow 

Is passing to and fro, 
Now rising to the ceiling, 

Now bowing and bending low. 

What tale do the roaring ocean, 

And the night-wind, bleak and wild, 

As they beat at the crazy casement, 
Tell to that little child ? 

And why do the roaring ocean, 

And the night-wind, wild and bleak, 

As they beat at the heart of the mother, 
Drive the color from her cheek ? 



SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 

Southward with fleet of ice 

Sailed the corsair Death ; 
Wild and fast blew the blast, 

And the east-wind was his breath. 

His lordly ships of ice 

Glisten in the sun ; 
On each side, like pennons wide, 

Flashing crystal streamlets run. 

His sails of white sea-mist 

Dripped with silver rain ; 
But where he passed there were cast 

Leaden shadows o'er the main. 

Eastward from Campobello^ 
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed ; 

Three days or more seaward he bore, 
Then, alas ! the land-wind failed. 

Alas ! the land-wind failed, 
And ice-cold grew the night ; 

And nevermore, on sea or shore, 
Should Sir Humphrey see the light. 



132 



BY THE SEASIDE. 



He sat upon the deck, 
The Book was in his hand ; 

" Do not fear ! Heaven is as near," 
He said, " by water as by land ! " 

In the first watch of the night, 

Without a signal's sound, 
Out of the sea, mysteriously, 

The fleet of Death rose all around. 

The moon and the evening star 
Were hanging in the shrouds; 

Every mast, as it passed, 

Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 

They grappled with their prize, 
At midnight black and cold 1 

of a rock was the shock ; 
Heavily the ground-swell rolled. 

Southward through day and dark, 

y drift in close embrace, 
With mist and rain, o'er the open main ; 
Vet there seems no change ot place. 

Southward, forever southward, 
They drift through dark and day; 

dream, in the (iulf-Stream 
Sinking, vanish .ill away. 



i hi; in, ii ["HOUSE. 

The rocky led into the sea, 

And 00 its outer point, some miles 

The Lighthouse lifts its massive ma- 

iry, 
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by 
day. 

Even at this distance I can see the tid 
Upheaving, break unheard along its 
ba 
peechless wrath, that ad sub- 

In the white lip and tremor of the face. 

And as the evening darkens, to ! how 
bright. 
Through the deep purple of the twi- 
ll t air, 
Beams forth the sudden radiance of its 
, light 
W ith strange, unearthly splendor in 
the glare I 



Not one alone; from each projectingcape 
And perilous reef along the oceans 
verge. 
Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape, 
Holding its lantern o'er the restless 
surge. 

Like the great giant Christopher it 
stands 
Upon the brink of the tempestuous 
wave, 
Wading far out among the rocks and 
sands, 
The night-o'ertaken mariner to save. 

And the great ships sail outward and 
return. 
Bending and bowing o'er the billowy 
swells, 
And ever joyful, as they see it burn, 
They wave their silent welcome ■ and 
farewells. 

They come forth from the darkn 

and their sails 
( rleam lor a moment only in the blaze, 

iger faces, as the light unveil 
Gaxe at the tower, and vanish while 

they gaze. 

The mariner remembers when a child, 
( >n his first voyage, he saw it fade 

and sink ; 
And when, returning from advent i. 
wild, 
!!<• sawit brink. 

erene, immovable, the same 

Year after year, through all the silent 

night 
Burns on forevermore that quench 
flame, 
Shines on that inextinguishable light I 

es the ocean to it 
The f"< kfl and mm sand with the 1. 
of | 
be wild winds lift it in then 
And hold it up, and shake it uki 
ce. 

The startled waves 1 it ; the 

rm 
Smites it with all th ihc 

tain, 

! steadily against its solid form 
Press the meat shoulders of the hur- 
ric.i 



RESIGNA TION. 



i33 



The sea-bird wheeling round it, with the 
din 
Of wings and winds and solitary cries, 
Blinded and maddened by the light 
within, 
Dashes himself against the glare, and 
dies. 

A new Prometheus, chained upon the 
rock, 
Still grasping in his hand the fire of 
Jove, 
It does not hear the cry, nor heed the 
shock, 
But hails the mariner with words of 
love. 

" Sail on ! " it says, " sail on, ye state- 
ly ships ! 
And with your floating bridge the 
ocean span ; 
Be mine to guard this light from all 
eclipse, 
Be yours to bring man nearer unto 
man ! " 



THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD. 

DEVEREUX FARM, NEAR MARBLE- 
HEAD. 

We sat within the farm-house old, 
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay, 

Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold, 
An easy entrance, night and day. 

Not far away we saw the port, 
The strange, old-fashioned, silent 
town, 
The lighthouse, the dismantled fort, 
The wooden houses, quaint and 
brown. 

We sat and talked until the night, 
Descending, filled the little room ; 

Our faces faded from the sight, 
Our voices only broke the gloom. 



We spake of many a vanished scene, 
Of what we once had thought and said, 

Of what had been, and might have been, 
And who was changed, and who was 
dead ; 

And all that fills the hearts of friends, 
When first they feel, with secret pain, 

Their lives thenceforth have separate 
ends, 
And never can be one again ; 

The first slight swerving of the heart, 
That words are powerless to express, 

And leave it still unsaid in part, 
Or say it in too great excess. 

The very tones in which we spake 
Had something strange, I could but 
mark ; 

The leaves of memory seemed to make 
A mournful rustling in the dark. 

Oft died the words upon our lips, 
As suddenly, from out the fire 

Built of the wreck of stranded ships, 
The flames would leap and then ex- 
pire. 

And, as their splendor flashed and failed, 
We thought of wrecks upon the main, 

Of ships dismasted, that were hailed 
And sent no answer back again. 

The windows, rattling in their frames, 
The ocean, roaring up the beach, 

The gusty blast, the bickering flames, 
All mingled vaguely in our speech ; 

Until they made themselves a part 
Of fancies floating through the brain, 

The long-lost ventures of the heart, 
That send no answers back again. 

O flames that glowed ! O hearts that 
yearned ! 
They were indeed too much akin, 
The drift-wood fire without that burned, 
The thoughts that burned and glowed 
within. 



BY THE 
RESIGNATION. 

There is no flock, however watched 
and tended, 
But one dead lamb is there ! 



FIRE SIDE. 

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 
But has one vacant chair ! 

The air is full of farewells to the dying, 
And mournings for the dead ; 



*34 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 



The heart of Rachel, for her children 
crying, 
Will not be comforted ! 

Let us be patient ! These severe af- 
flictions 
Not from the ground arise. 
But oftentimes celestial benedictions 
-ume this dark di 

We see but dimly through the mists 
and vapor- : 
Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but tad, funereal tapers 
.- be hi distant lam 

There is no Heath ! What seems so is 

tr ;i ; 

T! KMtal breath 

Is but .1 suburb of the life elysian, 
Whose portal we call Death. 

She dead, — the child of our af- 

fection, — 

unto that school 
Win - our j 

ion, 
nd Christ himself doth rule. 

In stillness and 

seclusi 

Safe Brora ife from i 

we call dead. 

!iink what she is d< 
In th( lit realn 

rsu- 

>' 

-Id ha 

Thus do «C walk with her, and keep 
unbr< 1 
The ! n >nd which 
Thinkiog that our rem though 

unspdl. 

i her \\ ' 
ild shall 

\ ith raptures wild 
In our erabra< 

She will i child ; 

But a fair maiden, in her ian- 

n, 

ll grace ; 
And fill with all the soul's ex; 

I >n 
Shall we behold her face. 



And though at times impetuous with 
emotion 
,d anguish long suppressed, 
The swelling heart neaves moaning like 
the ocean. 
That cannot be at rest, — 

We will be patient, and assuage the 
fee I 
We may not wholly Bta] 

ilence sanctifying, Q< ealing, 

The grief that must have way. 






HE BINDERS. 

are architect *.e, 

Working in these walls of Time ; 
Some with massi\ I eat, 

ens with ornaments of rhyme. 

thing u 

h thing in its place is best ; 
what seems but idle shi 
Strengthens and La the rest. 

the structure tha- 
ne is with 
( Km 

Are the blocks with which we build. 

Truly shape and fashion tin 

no yawnii n ; 

I 
Such things will remain unseen. 

In the elder d \it. 

_ ht wit! care 

li minute and unseen 

I < i die ( iods see ire. 

I do our 

Make ' \ dwell, 

iitiful, i 

I 

e t 

! 

ure, 
With 

Shall I cc. 

Tim attain 

And one boundless i 









BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



*35 



SAND OF THE DESERT IN 
AN HOUR-GLASS. 

A handful of red sand, from the hot 
clime 
Of Arab deserts brought, 
Within this glass becomes the spy of 
Time, 
The minister of Thought. 

How many weary centuries has it been 
About those deserts blown ! 

How many strange vicissitudes has 
seen, 
How many histories known ! 

Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite 
Trampled and passed it o'er. 

When into Egypt from the patriarch's 
sight 
His favorite son they bore. 

Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and 
bare, 
Crushed it beneath their tread ; 
Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the 
air 
Scattered it as they sped ; 

Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth 

Held close in her caress, 
Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and 
faith 

Illumed the wilderness. 

Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's palms 
Pacing the Dead Sea beach, 

And singing slow their old Armenian 
psalms 
In half-articulate speech ; 

Or caravans, that from Bassora's gate 
With westward steps depart ; 

Or Mecca's pilgrims, confident of Fate, 
And resolute in heart ! 

These have passed over it, or may have 
passed ! 

Now in this crystal tower 
Imprisonedbysomecurioushand at last, 

It counts the passing hour. 

And as I gaze, these narrow walls ex- 
pand ; 
Before my dreamy eye 
Stretches the desert with its shifting 
sand, 
Its unimpeded sky. 




And borne aloft by the sustaining blast, 

This little golden thread 
Dilates into a column high and vast, 

A form of fear and dread. 

And onward, and across the setting sun, 
Across the boundless plain, 

The column and its broader shadow run, 
Till thought pursues in vain. 

The vision vanishes ! These walls again 

Shut out the lurid sun, 
Shut out the hot, immeasurable plain ; 

The half-hour's sand is run ! 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

Black shadows fall 
From the lindens tall, 
That lift aloft their massive wall 
Against the southern sky ; 

And from the realms 
Of the shadowy elms 
A tide-like darkness overwhelms 
The fields that round us lie. 

But the night is fair, 
And everywhere 
A warm, soft vapor fills the air, 
And distant sounds seem near ; 

And above, in the light 
Of the star-lit night, 
Swift birds of passage wing their flight 
Through the dewy atmosphere. 

I hear the beat 
Of their pinions fleet, 
As from the land of snow and sleet 
They seek a southern lea. 

I hear the cry 
Of their voices high 
Falling dreamily through the sky, 
But their forms I cannot see. 

O, say not so ! 
Those sounds that flow 
In murmurs of delight and woe 
Come not from wings of birds. 

They are the throngs 
Of the poet's songs, 
Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and 
wrongs, 
The sound of winged words. 



i 3 6 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 



This is the cry 
Of souls, that high 
On toiling, beating pinions, fly, 
Seeking a warmer clime. 

From their distant Sight 

Through realms of light 

It tails into our world of night. 

With the murmuring sound of rhyme. 



THE OPEN WIND* »W. 

The old house by the lindens 

. silent in the shade, 
And on th lied pathway 

The light and shadow played. 

w the nursery windows 
Wide open to the air ; 

aldren, 

Tl: 

ndland house-dog 
W by the 

1 I hi-s lit: 

Who would return n<> in 

dked not under the lindV 
d not in the hall : 
and silent e, and sadn< 

Were hangit. ill. 

in the branches, 
W amiliar tot 

• the i hildn 

Will be heard in dreams alone ! 

And the boy that w ide me, 

He o uld not understand 

in mine, ah ! 

hand ! 



KING WII 1 VF'S I >KIN KING- 
HORN 

WlTLAF, I kint; of tl 

t he br< 

1 monks of ( 

II. .'.;:: lui \ horn b . — 

at theii 
1 drank from the golden bowl, 
it rem« 
he a prayer for hia aouL 

i e at ( hristrnaa, 

In their beards the red wine glistened 
I ik dew drops in the 



They drank to the soul of Witlaf, 
They drank to Christ the Lord, 

And to each of the Twelve Aposth 
Who had preached his 1 rd. 

They drank to the Saints and Martyrs 

( n the dismal da- re, 

And as soon as the horn was empty 

They remembered one Saint more. 

And the reader droned from the pulpit, 

Like the murmur of mar 
The legend of 5 lint ( ruthla 

Ami Saint Basil's hotnilii 

Till the great belK of the convent, 
in their prison in the tower, 
hlac and bartl 

limed the midnight hour. 

And the Yule 1 in the chim- 

in 
And tl. 

I the flat 

But the Abbot wa 

— till in his pallid I 

II ■ clutched the golden bowl, 
In which, h ail dissoh 

I lad sunk and di «ul. 

this their 

: monks forboi 

I, " Fill high the goblet I 

We must drink t t more 



<; \sp \K hi CER1 

By his evening fire the artist 

a ; 

;ill he n nie. 

' I was an image i<( tl in 

That had I his utm 11 ; 

a] 

till. 

;id 
II nl • lit ; 

A; i until ught ; 

Till, di 

1 the day's humil 

ind oblivion in sir 



TEGNER'S DRAPA. 



137 



Then a voice cried, " Rise, O master ! 

from the burning brand of oak 
Shape the thought that stirs within 
thee ! " 

And the startled artist woke, — 

Woke, and from the smoking embers 
Seized and quenched the glowing 
wood ; 

And therefrom he carved an image, 
And he saw that it was good. 

O thou sculptor, painter, poet ! 

Take this lesson to thy heart : 
That is best which lieth nearest ; 

Shape from that thy work of art. 



and 



PEGASUS IN POUND. 

Once into a quiet village, 

Without haste and without heed, 

In the golden prime of morning, 
Strayed the poet's winged steed. 

It was Autumn, and incessant 
Piped the quails from shocks 
sheaves, 

And, like living coals, the apples 
Burned among the withering leaves. 

Loud the clamorous bell was ringing 
From its belfry gaunt and grim ; 

'T was the daily call to labor, 
Not a triumph meant for him. 

Not the less he saw the landscape, 
In its gleaming vapor veiled ; 

Not the less he breathed the odors 
That the dying leaves exhaled. 

Thus, upon the village common, 
By the school-boys he was found ; 

And the wise men, in their wisdom, 
Put him straightway into pound. 

Then the sombre village crier, 
Ringing loud his brazen bell, 

Wandered down the street proclaiming 
There was an estray to sell. 

And the curious country people, 
Rich and poor, and young and old, 

Came in haste to see this wondrous 
Winged steed, with mane of gold. 

Thus the day passed, and the evening 
Fell, with vapors cold and dim ; 

But it brought no food nor shelter, 
Brought no straw nor stall, for him. 



Patiently, and still expectant, 

Looked he through the wooden bars, 

Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape, 
Saw the tranquil, patient stars ; 

Till at length the bell at midnight 
Sounded from its dark abode, 

And, from out a neighboring farm-yard, 
Loud the cock Alectryon crowed. 

Then, with nostrils wide distended, 
Breaking from his iron chain, 

And unfolding far his pinions, 
To those stars he soared again. 

On the morrow, when the village 
Woke to all its toil and care, 

Lo ! the strange steed had departed, 
And they knew not when nor where. 

But they found, upon the greensward 
Where his struggling hoofs had trod, 

Pure and bright, a fountain flowing 
From the hoof-marks in the sod. 

From that hour, the fount unfailing 
Gladdens the whole region round, 

Strengthening all who drink its waters, 
While it soothes them with its sound. 



TEGNER'S DRAPA. 

I heard a voice, that cried, 

" Balder the Beautiful 

Is dead, is dead ! " 

And through the misty air 

Passed like the mournful cry 

Of sunward sailing cranes. 

I saw the pallid corpse 

Of the dead sun 

Borne through the Northern sky. 

Blasts from Niffelheim 

Lifted the sheeted mists 

Around him as he passed. 

And the voice forever cried, 
" Balder the Beautiful 
Is dead, is dead !" 
And died away 
Through the dreary night, 
In accents of despair. 

Balder the Beautiful, 
God of the summer sun, 
Fairest of all the Gods ! 
Light from his forehead beamed, 



i 3 S 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 



Runes were upon his tongue, 
As on the warrior's sword. 

All things in earth and air 
Bound were by magic spell 

. er to do him harm ; 
Even the plants and stones ; 
All save the mistletoe, 
The sacred mistletoe 

der, the blind old 
Whose feet are shod with silence, 
Pierced through that gentle bn 
harp sj iud 

etoe, 
letoe ! 

him in his ship, 
1 harness, 
n a funeral p. 
Odin placed 
A ring up 
And \n d in his ear. 

*y launched the burning ship ! 

Till like the sun it seem' 
uh the 

lore I 

So perish the old I 

ne 
I 

than th< 

k the young bards and sing. 

1 it again, 

l 

<! I 

1 

^ the ne ve ! 

.Is 1 
r, the thun 
1 rule the earth no m< 

with tl. 
llengc the meek Lhrist. 

Siog re, 

fthel 

he freedom only, 
. the deeds of blood! 



S O X X E T 



MRS. K 



DINGS FROM 



O precio: all too swiftly 

Leaving us heirs to amplest heri; 
Of all the best thou the gn 

Vnd ito the silent 

id ! 
;r beat and trcml 

Interpreting by tones the wondrous 

t the great poet who toieruns the 

Antici: 11 that shall be sa 

O hap; having for tl, 

The mag k, wh< 

ht 
Th« ill human 

thought ! 
( ) happy Poel I by p 

IIhw must th\ it now 

rej< 
To be intei 



TI1F SIN( 

nth 
(1 o| ninth. 

I hat :! .. h the hearts of 

ran 

them 1 

The 

1 in his hand a g< 

III! 

Playing tl 

% ith a I 

'I I. d. 

man. t 

While I 

ree 

I 

echoes in each 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 



*39 



But the great Master said, " I see 

No best in kind, but in degree ; 

I gave a various gift to each, 

To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. 

" These are the three great chords of 

might, 
And he whose ear is tuned aright 
Will hear no discord in the three, 
But the most perfect harmony." 



S U S P I R I A. 

Take them, O Death ! and bear away 
Whatever thou canst call thine own ! 

Thine image, stamped upon this clay, 
Doth give thee that, but that alone ! 

Take them, O Grave ! and let them lie 
Folded upon thy narrow shelves, 

As garments by the soul laid by. 
And precious only to ourselves ! 

Take them, O great Eternity ! 

Our little life is but a gust 
That bends the branches of thy tree, 

And trails its blossoms in the dust 1 



HYMN 

FOR MY BROTHER'S ORDINATION. 

Christ to the young man said : " Yet 
one thing more ; 

If thou wouldst perfect be, 
Sell all thou hast and give it to the poor, 

And come and follow me ! " 

Within this temple Christ again, unseen, 
Those sacred words hath said, 

And his invisible hands to-day have 
been 
Laid on a young man's head. 

And evermore beside him on his way 
The unseen Christ shall move, 

That he may lean upon his arm and say, 
" Dost thou, dear Lord, approve? " 

Beside him at the marriage feast shall be, 
To make the scene more fair ; 

Beside him in the dark Gethsemane 
Of pain and midnight prayer. 

O holy trust ! O endless sense of rest ! 

Like the beloved John 
To lay his head upon the Saviour's 
breast, 

And thus to journey on ! 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 

FROM THE GASCON OF JASMIN. 

Only the Lowland tongue of Scotland might 
Rehearse this little tragedy aright ; 
Let me attempt it with an English quill ; 
And take, O Reader, for the deed the will. 



1. 

At the foot of the mountain height 
Where is perched Castel-Cuille, 
When the apple, the plum, and the 
almond tree 
In the plain below were growing 

white, 
This is the song one might perceive 
On a Wednesday morn of Saint Jo- 
seph's Eve : 

" The roads should blossom, the roads 
should bloom, 

So fair a bride shall leave her home ! 

Should blossom and bloom with gar- 
lands gay, 

So fair a bride shall pass to-day ! " 



This old Te Deum, rustic rites attend- 
ing, 
Seemed from the clouds descend- 
ing ; 
When lo ! a merry company 
Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye, 

Each one with her attendant swain, 
Came to the cliff, all singing the same 

strain ; 
Resembling there, so near unto the 

sky, 
Rejoicing angels, that kind Heaven has 

sent 
For their delight and our encourage- 
ment. 
Together blending, 
And soon descending 



140 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 



The narrow sweep 

the Hillside steep, 
They wind aslant 
Towards Saint Amant, 
Through leafy alleys 

verdurous valleys 
With merry sallies 
Singing their chant : 

" The roads should blossom, the roads 
should bloom, 
fair a bride shall leave her home ! 

Should blossom and bioom with gar- 
Ian < 

So fair a bride shali \ lay ! " 

It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, 
With garia the bridal laden ! 

'J he sky was blue ; without one cloud 
m, 
The bud - t March wu shining bi 

And to the air the freshening wind gave 
lightly 
Its br< ' perfume. 

When om ;he dusky hedges 

blossom, 
c bridal, ah ! how swert it is ! 

it touch with tenderness the trem- 
bli: in, 

A ns 

rs 
W 
K 

With 1 \g, 

Till in the 

lance, 

whose laugh hallbeloud- 

Whilc tli bi ' : --. with i' 
ith them, t 

h me 

lily 
■ hall 1>< 

And all pursue w ith e, 

ill attain what tin e. 

And touch her prett\ and 

nc 
d the linen kirtle round h« 



Meanwhile, whence comes it that 

anv 
These youthful maidens fresh and 
fair, 

with such laughing air, 
Baptiste stands sighing, with silent 

tongue? 
And yet the bride is fair and yourg ! 
Mould say to us all, 
That love. o'er-ha-ty. pn a fall? 

no ! :«ra maiden trail. 1 trow, 

lofty a hi. 
What I they give not a single 

To see them so careless and cold to-day. 
These pie, one would 

What ails te? what grief doth 

him oppre 

It is, that, halfway up the hill, 
. by whose walls 

tnd the cart In alls, 

th the blind orphan still, 
d old ; 
<1 you must ki 
'1 hat Margaret, the 

d< 
Was tl.i \ il'ave pride and splendor, 

And Baptiste her l< cL 

I 

1 : ■ I the altar % d ; 

But, .das ! the summer's blight, 

'I hi 

j night, 

I k the yoi 

All at the fail ■ nmand 

ingad ; 

t their li 

W ■ 1: ii <1 at I the 1< 

fled; 
but tin 
'I he gol<l< 
thn 

1:1. 
Tin 

"• \; i 1. I 

Hei 

n's side 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 



141 



A woman, bent and gray with years, 
Under the mulberry-trees appears, 
And all towards her run, as fleet 
As had they wings upon their feet. 

It is that Jane, the cripple Jane, 
Is a soothsayer, wary and kind. 
She telleth fortunes, and none complain. 
She promises one a village swain, 
Another a happy wedding-day, 
And the bride a lovely boy straight- 
way. 
All comes to pass as she avers ; 
She never deceives, she never errs. 

But for this once the village seer 
Wears a countenance severe, 
And from beneath her eyebrows thin 
and white 
Her two eyes flash like cannons 

bright 
Aimed at the bridegroom in waist- 
coat blue, 
Who, like a statue, stands in view ; 
Changing color, as well he might, 
When the beldame wrinkled and 

gray 
Takes the young bride by the hand, 
And, with the tip of her reedy wand 
Making the sign of the cross, doth 

say: — 
" Thoughtless Angela, beware ! 
Lest, when thou weddest this false 

bridegroom, 

Thou diggest for thyself a tomb ! " 

And she was silent ; and the maidens fair 

Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear ; 

But on a little streamlet silver-clear, 

What are two drops of turbid rain ? 

Saddened a moment, the bridal 

train 
Resumed the dance and song again ; 
The bridegroom only was pale with 
fear ; — 
And down green alleys 
Of verdurous valleys, 
With merry sallies, 
They sang the refrain : — 

" The roads should blossom, the roads 
should bloom, 

So fair a bride shall leave her home ! 

Should blossom and bloom with gar- 
lands gay, 

So fair a bride shall pass to-day ! " 



11. 

And by suffering worn and weary, 
But beautiful as some fair angel yet, 
Thus lamented Margaret, 
In her cottage lone and dreary : — 

" He has arrived ! arrived at last ! 
Yet Jane has named him not these 

three days past ; 
Arrived ! yet keeps aloof so far ! 
And knows that of my night he is the 

star ! 
Knows that long months I wait alone, 

benighted, 
And count the moments since he went 

away ! 
Come ! keep the promise of that- hap- 
pier day, 
That I may keep the faith to thee I 

plighted ! 
What joy have I without thee? what 

delight? 
Grief wastes my life, and makes it 

misery ; 
Day for the others ever, but for me 

Forever night ! forever night ! 
When he is gone 'tis dark ! my soul is 

sad ! 
I suffer ! O my God ! come, make me 

glad. 
When he is near, no thoughts of day 

intrude ; 
Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste 

has blue eyes ! 
Within them shines for me a heaven 

of love, 
A heaven all happiness, like that above, 
No more of grief ! no more of las- 
situde ! 
Earth I forget, — and heaven, and all 

distresses, 
When seated by my side my hand he 

presses ; 
But when alone, remember all ! 
Where is Baptiste ? he hears not when 

I call ! 
A branch of ivy, dying on the ground, 
I need some bough to twine 

around ! 
In pity come ! be to my suffering 

kind ! 
True love, they say, in grief doth more 

abound ! 
What then — when one is blind ? 



1 4 2 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 



11 Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken ! 
Ah ! woe is me ! then bear me to my 
grave ! 
O God ! what thoughts within me 
waken ! 
Away ! he will return ! I do but rave ! 
He will return ! I need not fear I 
He swore it by our Saviour dear ; 

could not come at his own will ; 
Is weary, or perhaps is ill ! 
Perhaps his heart, in this disguise, 
Prepares for me some sweet sur- 
prise ! 
But some one comes ! Though blind, 

my heart cat 
And that d< me DOt I 't i> he ! 't is 

he 

And the door ajar is set, 

Boding Margaret 
with tched arms, but 

- only l'aul. 1, ;hcr, who thus 

cries : — 
" \ngela the bride has pass, 

f ; 
Tell me, my Bister, why were we DOt 

For all are there but you and I 

ela married ! and not send 
To tek I ret unto n 

O, speak ' who may the bridegn 

't is Baptistc, thy 

A cry the blind girl gave, but nothing 

A milky win; upon her 

c 1 
icy hand, a> he. v. id, 

IS her brotl iks, 

on her heart, that ha d to 

hilc its life and heat, 
the boy, now sore 
dis; 
Aw donna a ed. 



At length, the bridal sc 
Hi ii It to her 

;n. 



pun 

w and 



irk! the i 



ire ringing ! 

art Ik ,'Ug? 



How merrily they laugh and jest ! 
Would we were bidden with the 
rest : 

I would don my hose of homespun 

ay. 
And my doublet of linen striped 

and gay ; 
Perhaps they will come ; for they do 

: wed 
Till to-morrow at seven o'clock, it 

said ! " 

II I know it I '' answered Margaret ; 
Whom the vision, with aspect black 

jet. 
Mastered again ; and its hand of 

Held her heart crushed, as in a 

" Pan II T il I holi- 

day ; 
monou put on thy doublet gay ! 
But leave me now tor a wl 

al< 
Away, w ith a hop and a jump, went 

Paul, 
V <1. as he whistled all, 

d Jane, the cri] ; 

•• 1 [< Iy Virgin ! what dful 

a : 

1 am faint, and v and out of 

breath ! 
But thou art -art thill as 

Ltfa ; 
My little tin hat ails thee, 

• othing ! I heard tl .^ing home 

the hi'.' 

I thought my turn would i ome I 

>'" 
Thou knowest it is at Whitsun- 
tide. 

Thy < .ml ;h tan never I 

h joy tl 
I hy skill shall be vaunt 

wide 

When tin 1 him at nr 

And pool I 

thou? 
It must seem long to him ; — methinks 
I e< hut 

hand doth 

not all approve ; 



THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 



143 



We must not trust too much to hap- 
piness ; — 

Go, pray to God, that thou mayst love 
him less ! " 
" The more I pray, the more I love ! 

It is no sin, for God is on my side ! " 

It was enough ; and Jane no more 
replied. 

Now to all hope her heart is barred 

and cold ; 
But to deceive the beldame old 
She takes a sweet, contented air ; 
Speak of foul weather or of fair, 
At every word the maiden smiles ! 
Thus the beguiler she beguiles ; 
So that, departing at the evening's 

close, 
She says, " She may be saved ! 

she nothing knows ! " 

Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress ! 
Now that thou wouldst, thou art no 

prophetess ! 
This morning, in the fulness of thy 
heart, 
Thou wast so, far beyond thine art ! 

in. 

Now rings the bell, nine times rever- 
berating, 

And the white daybreak, stealing 
up the sky, 

Sees in two cottages two maidens 
waiting, 
How differently ! 
Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed, 

The one puts on her cross and 
crown, 

Decks with a huge bouquet her 
breast, 

And flaunting, fluttering up and 
down, 

Looks at herself and cannot rest. 

The other, blind, within her little 
room, 

Has neither crown nor flower's 
perfume ; 

But in their stead for something gropes 
apart, 

That in a drawer's recess doth lie, 
And, 'neath her bodice of bright scar- 
let dye, 

Convulsive clasps it to her heart. 



The one, fantastic, light as air, 

'Mid kisses ringing, 

And joyous singing, 
Forgets to say her morning prayer ! 

The other, with cold drops upon her 
brow, 
Joins her two hands, and kneels up- 
on the floor, 
And whispers, as her brother opes the 
door, 
" O God ! forgive me now ! " 

And then the orphan, young and 

blind, 
Conducted by her brother's hand, 
Towards the church, through paths 

unscanned, 
With tranquil air, herway doth wind. 
Odors of laurel, making her faint and 
pale, 
Round her at times exhale, 
And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, 
But brumal vapors gray. 

Near that castle, fair to see, 
Crowded with sculptures old, in every 

part, 
Marvels of nature and of art, 
And proud of its name of high 

degree, 
A little chapel, almost bare 
At the base of the rock, is builded 

there ; 
All glorious that it lifts aloof, 
Above each jealous cottage roof, 
Its sacred summit, swept by autumn 

gales, 
And its blackened steeplehighinair 
Round which the osprey screams 

and sails. 

" Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by ! " 
Thus Margaret said. " Where are we ? 
we ascend ! " 
" Yes ; seest thou not our journey's 
end? 
Hearest not the osprey from the belfry 

cry? 
The hideous bird, that brings ill luck, 

we know ! 
Dost thou remember when our father 
said, 
The night we watched beside his 

bed, 
' O daughter, I am weak and low ; 



144 



BY THE FIRESIDE. 



Take care of Paul ; I feel that I am dy- 
ing ! ' 

And thou, and he, and I, allfelltocryirg? 

Then on the roof the osprey screamed 
aloud ; 

And here they brought our father in his 
shroud. 

There is his grave ; there stands the 
cross we set ; 

Why dost thou clasp me so, dear Mar- 
garet ? 
Come in ! The bride will be here 
soon : 

Thou tremblest ! O my God ! thou art 
going to swoon ! "' 

She could no more, — the blind girl, 
weak and weary ! 

A voice seemed crying from that grave 
so dreary, 

" What wouldst thou do, my daughter? " 
— and she started ; 
And quick recoiled, aghast: faint- 
hearted ; 

But Paul, impatient, urges evermore 
Her steps towards the open door ; 

And when, beneath her feet, the unhap- 
py maid 

Crushes the laurel near the house im- 
mortal, 

And with lu'rlu\ul,.i- Paul talksonagain, 
u hes the crown of fdigrane 
Suspended from the low-arched 
portal, 
more restrained, no more afraid, 
She walk d. 

And intheancientchapel'a sombre night 

They both are lost to sight. 

At length the bell, 

With 1 i oming sound, 

Sends forth, resounding round. 

Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down 
the dell. 
It is broad day, with sunshine and 
with rain ; 
And yet the guests delay not long, 
1 <>r s,.on arrives the bridal train. 
And with it brings the village 
throng. 

In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, 
For lo ! Baptistc on this triumphant day, 
Mute as an idiot, sad as yestermorning. 
Thinks only of the beldame's words of 
warning. 



And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis; 
To be a bride is all ! The pretty lisper 
Feels her hearts well to hear all round 

her whisper, 
"How beautiful ! how beautiful she is !" 

But she must calm that giddy head, 
For already the Mass is said ; 
At the holy table stands the pri 
The wedding ring is blessed; Baptiste 

receives it ; 
Ere on the finger of the bride he leaves it, 
He must pronounce one word at 
least ! 
'T is spoken ; and sudden at the grooms- 
man's side 
"'T is he !" a well-known voice has 

cried. 
And while the wedding guests all hold 

their breath. 
Opes the confessional, and the blind girl, 

see ! 
" Baptiste," she said, " since thou last 

wished my death. 
As holy water be my blood for thee 

d calmly in the air a knife sus] ended ! 
Doubtless her guardian angel near at- 
tended, 

■ sh did its work so well, 
That, ere the fatal strokedescended. 
Lifeless she fell 1 

At eve. instead of bridal verse, 
'I he 1 >e Profundis idled the air : 

i ked with flowers a simple hearse 
To the churchyard forth tney be 

Village girls in n VOiom 

Follow, weeping as they \ 
where was a mile that << 
No, ah no ! for each one seemed to 

iy : — 

" The road should mourn and be Veiled 

in gloom, 
t'air a corpse shall leave its home ! 
Should mourn and should weep, ah, 

well -a way ! 
So fair a corpse shall pass to-day 1 " 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

FROM THE MORI l 

B \KoZ \I. 

I hear along our str« 
Pass the minstrel throng 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



i4S 



Hark ! they play so sweet, 
On their hautboys, Christmas songs ! 

Let us by the fire 

Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

In December ring 
Every clay the chimes ; 
Loud the gleemen sing 
In the streets their merry rhymes. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire. 

Shepherds at the grange, 
Where the Babe was born, 
Sang, with many a change, 
Christmas carols until morn. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

These good people sang 
Songs devout and sweet ; 
While the rafters rang, 
There they stood with freezing feet. 



Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire. 

Nuns in frigid cells 
At this holy tide, 
For want of something else, 
Christmas songs at times have tried. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 

Washerwomen old, 
To the sound they beat, 
Sing by rivers cold, 
With uncovered heads and feet. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire. 

Who by the fireside stands 
Stamps his feet and sings ; 
But he who blows his hands 
Not so gay a carol brings. 
Let us by the fire 
Ever higher 
Sing them till the night expire ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



1851 



PROLOGUE. 

The Spire of Strasburg Cathedral. 
Night and storm. Lucifer, with 
the Powers of the Air, trying to 
tear down the Cross. 

Lucifer. Hasten ! hasten ! 
O ye spirits ! 

From its station drag the ponderous 
Cross of iron, that to mock us 
Is uplifted high in air ! 

Voices. O, we cannot ! 
For around it 

All the Saints and Guardian Angels 
Throng in legions to protect it ; 
They defeat us everywhere ! 

The Bells. 

Laudo Deum verum ! 
Plebem voco"! 
Congrego clerum ! 
10 




Lucifer. Lower ! lower ! 
Hover downward ! 
Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and 
Clashing, clanging, to the pavement 
Hurl them from their windy tower ! 

Voices. All thy thunders 
Here are harmless ! 
For these bells have been anointed, 
And baptized with holy water ! 
They defy our utmost power. 

The Bells. 

Defunctos ploro ! 
Pestem fugo ! 
Festa decoro ! 

Lucifer. Shake the casements ! 
Break the painted 

Panes, that flame with gold and crimson ; 
Scatter them like leaves of Autumn, 
Swept away before the blast ! 



146 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



Voices. O, we cannot ! 
The Archangel 

Michael flames from every window, 
With the sword of fire that drove us 
Headlong, out of heaven, aghast ! 

The Bells. 

Fun era plango ! 
Fulgura frango ! 
Sabbata pango ! 

Lucifer. Aim your lightnings 
At the oaken, 

Massive, iron-studded portals ! 
Sack the house of God, and scatter 
Wide the ashes of the dead ! 

Voices. O, we cannot ! 
The Apostles 

And the Martyrs, wrapped in mantles, 
Stand as warders at the entrance, 
Stand as sentinels o'erhead ! 

The Bells. 

Excito lentos ! 
Dissipo ventos ! 
Paco cruentos ! 

Lucifer. Baffled ! baffled ! 
Inefficient, 

Craven spirits ! leave this labor 
Unto Time, the Great Destroyer ! 
Come away, ere night is gone ! 

Voices. Onward ! onward ! 
With the night-wind, 
Over field and farm and forest, 
Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet, 
Blighting all we breathe upon ! 

( They sweep away. Organ and Gre- 
gorian Chant.) 

Choir. 

Nocte surgentes 
Vigilemus oiunes ! 



The castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine. 
A chamber in a tower. Prince 
Henry, sitting alone, ill and rest- 
less. Midnight. 

I'rince Henry. I cannot sleep ! my 
fervid brain 
Calls up the vanished Past again, 
And throws its misty splendors deep 
Into the pallid realms of sleep I 



A breath from that far-distant shore 
Comes freshening ever more and more, 
And wafts o'er intervening seas 
Sweet odors from the Hesperides ! 
A wind, that through the corridor 
Just stirs the curtain, and no more, 
And, touching the aeolian strings, 
Faints with the burden that it brings ! 
Come back ! ye friendships long de- 
parted ! 
That like o'erflowing streamlets started, 
And now are dwindled, one by one, 
To stony channels in the sun ! 
Come back ! ye friends, whose lives are 

ended, 
Come back, with all that light attended, 
Which seemed to darken and decay 
When ye arose and went away ! 

They come, the shapes of joy and woe, 
The airy crowds of long ago, 
The dreams and fancies known of yore, 
That have been, and shall be no more. 
They change the cloisters of the night 
Into a garden of delight ; 
They make the dark and dreary hours 
Open and blossom into flowers ! 
I would not sleep ! I love to be 
Again in their fair company ; 
But ere my lips can bid them stay, 
They pass and vanish quite away ! 
Alas ! our memories may retrace 
Each circumstance of time and place, 
Season and scene come back again, 
And outward things unchanged remain ; 
The rest we cannot reinstate ; 
Ourselves we cannot re-create, 
Nor set our souls to the same key 
Of the remembered harmony 1 

Rest ! rest ! O, give me rest and peace ! 
The thought of life that ne'er shall 

cease 
Has something in it like despair, 
A weight I am too weak to bear 1 
Sweeter to this afflicted breast 
The thought of never ending rest ! 
Sweeter the undisturbed and deep 
Tranquillity of endless sleep ! 

{A flash of light fling, out of which 
Lucifer appears, in the garb of a 
travelling Thysician.) 

Lucifer. All hail, Prince Henry ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



147 



Prince Henry (starting). Who is it 
speaks ? 
Who and what are you ? 

Lztcifer. One who seeks 
A moment's audience with the Prince. 

Prince Henry. When came you in ? 

Lucifer. A moment since. 
I found your study door unlocked, 
And thought you answered when I 
knocked. 

Prince Henry. I did not hear you. 

Lticifer. You heard the thunder ; 
It was loud enough to waken the dead. 
And it is not a matter of special wonder 
That, when God is walking overhead, 
You should not hear my feeble tread. 

Prince Henry. What may your wish 
or purpose be ? 

Lucifer. Nothing or everything, as 
it pleases 
Your Highness. You behold in me 
Only a travelling Physician ; 
One of the few who have a mission 
To cure incurable diseases, 
Or those that are called so. 

Prince Henry. Can you bring 
The dead to life ? 

Lucifer. Yes ; very nearly. 
And, what is a wiser and better thing, 
Can keep the living from ever needing 
Such an unnatural, strange proceeding, 
By showing conclusively and clearly 
That death is a stupid blunder merely, 
And not a necessity of our lives. . 
My being here is accidental ; 
The storm, that against your casement 

drives, 
In the little village below waylaid me. 
And there I heard, with a secret delight, 
Of your maladies physical and mental, 
Which neither astonished nor dismayed 

me. 
And I hastened hither, though late in 

the night 
To proffer my aid ! 

Prince Henry {ironically). For this 
you came ! 
Ah, how can I ever hope to requite 
This honor from one so erudite ? 

Lucifer. The honor is mine, or will 
be when 
I have cured your disease. 

Prince Henry. But not till then. 

Lucifer. What is your illness ? 



Prince Henry. It has no name. 

A smouldering, dull, perpetual flame, 
As in a kiln, burns in my veins, 
Sending up vapors to the head ; 
My heart has become a dull lagoon, 
Which a kind of leprosy drinks and 

drains ; 
I am accounted as one who is dead, 
And, indeed, I think that I shall be 
soon. 

Lucifer. And has Gordonius the Di- 
vine, 
In his famous Lily of Medicine, — 
I see the book lies open before you, — 
No remedy potent enough to restore 
you? 

Prince Henry. None whatever ! 

Lucifer. The dead are dead, 

And their oracles dumb, when ques- 
tioned 
Of the new diseases that human life 
Evolves in its progress, rank and rife. 
Consult the dead upon things that were, 
But the living only on things that are. 
Have you done this, by the appliance 
And aid of doctors ? 

^Prince Henry. Ay, whole schools 
Of doctors, with their learned rules; 
But the case is quite beyond their sci- 
ence. 
Even the doctors of Salem 
Send me back word they can discern 
No cure for a malady like this, 
Save one which in its nature is 
Impossible, and cannot be ! 

Lucifer. That sounds oracular ! 

Prince Henry. Unendurable ! 

Lucifer. What is their remedy? 

Prince Henry. You shall see ; 

Writ in this scroll is the mystery. 

Lucifer (reading). " Not to be cured, 
yet not incurable ! 
The only remedy that remains 
Is the blood that flows from a maiden's 

veins, 
Who of her own free will shall die, 
And give her life as the price of yours ! " 
That is the strangest of all cures, 
And one, I think, you will never try ; 
The prescription you may well put by, 
As something impossible to find 
Before the world itself shall end ! 
And yet who knows ? One cannot say 
That into some maiden's brain that kind 



148 



THE GOLD EX LEGEXD. 



Of madness will not find its way. 
Meanwhile permit me to recommend, 
As the matter admits of no delay, 
My wonderful Catholicon, 
Of very subtile and magical powers ! 
Prince Henry. Purge with your nos- 
trums and drugs infernal 
The spouts and gargoyles of these tow- 
ers, 
Not me. My faith is utterly gone 
In every power but the Power Supernal ! 
Pray tell me, of what school are you ? 
Lucifer. Both of the Old and" of the 
New ! 
The school of Hermes Trismegistus, 
Who uttered his oracles sublime 
ore the Olympiads, in the (k 
the early dusk and dawn of Time, 
The reign of dateless old Hephaestus 1 
As northward, from its Nubian springs, 
The Nile, forever new and old. 
Among the living and the dead, 
Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled; 
So, starting from its !ountain-head 

der the lotus-leaves of [sis, 
From the dead demigods of eld, 
Through long, unbroken lines of ki 
Its course the sacred art has held. 
Unchecked, unchanged by man's devi- 
ces. 
This art the Arabian Geber taught, 
And in alembics, finely wrought, 

tilling herbs and fl 1 red 

The secret that 10 long had hovered 
:i the misty verge of Truth, 

The Elixir of Perpetual Youth, 

led Alcohol, in the Arab speech ! 
Like him. this wondrous lore I teach ! 

Prime* Henry. What ! an adept? 

Lucifer. nor more ! 

Prime* Henry. I am a reader of 
your DOOli 
A lover of that mystic lore ! 
With such a piercing glance it looks 
Into great Nature's open eye. 
And MCI within it trembling lie 
'1 he portrait of the Deity ! 
And yet, alas ! with all my pains, 
'I hr scent and the myst. 
Have baffled and eluded me, 
Unseen the grand result remain 

Lucifer {shoivitig a flask). Behold 
it here ! this litile flask 
Contains the wonderful quintessence, 



The perfect flower and efflorescence, 
Of all the knowledge man can ask ! 
Hold it up thus against the light ! 

Prince Henry. How limpid, pure, 
and crystalline, 
How quick, and tremulous, and bright 
The little wavelets dance and shine, 
As were it the Water of Life in sooth ! 

Lucifer. It is I It assuages every 
pain, 
Cures all disease, and gives again 
To age the swift delights of youth. 
Inhale its fragrance. 

Prime* Henry. It is sweet. 

A thousand different odors meet 
And mingle in its rare perfume, 
Such as the winds of summer waft 
At open windows through a room ! 

Lucifer. Will you not taste it ? 

Prince Henry. Will one draught 
suffice? 

Lucifer. If not. you can drink more. 

Prime* Henry. Into this crystal gob- 
let pour 
So much as safely I may drink. 

Luc/' 1 et not the quan- 

tity alarm you ; 
You may drink all ; it will not harm you. 

Prince Henry. 1 am as one who on 
the brink 
( Ma dark river stands and sees 
The waters flow, the landscape dim 
Around him waver, wheel, and swim, 

I, ere he plunges, stops to think 
Into what whirlpools he may sink ; 
One moment pan d no more, 

'I hen madly plunges from the shore I 

.Hong into the mysteries 
Of lift and death 1 boldly leap. 

Nor fear the fateful current's sweep, 

: what in ambush lurl ■ I 

1 or death is better than disease 1 

\ with on motimn harp 

kev*rt in the air.) 

\-e/. Woe ' woe ! eternal woe! 
Not Ofltly the whispered piaver 
Ofl. 
But the imprecations of hate, 

Reverberate 

1 o] 1 through the air 

A DOT 

This fearful curse 

Shakes the great universe! 




THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



149 



Lucifer {disappearing). Drink ! 

drink ! 
And thy soul shall sink 
Down into the dark abyss, 
Into the infinite abyss, 
From which no plummet nor rope 
Ever drew up the silver sand of hope ! 
Prince Henry {drinking). It is like 

a draught of fire ! 
Through every vein 
I feel again 

The fever of youth, the soft desire ; 
A rapture that is almost pain 
Throbs in my heart and fills my brain ! 

joy ! O joy ! I feel 
The band of steel 

That so long and heavily has pressed 

Upon my breast 

Uplifted, and the malediction 

Of my affliction 

Is taken from me, and my weary breast 

At length finds rest. 

The Angel. It is but the rest of the 

fire, from which the air has been 

taken ! 
It is but the rest of the sand, when the 

hour-glass is not shaken ! 
It is but the rest of the tide between the 

ebb and the flow ! 
It is but the rest of the wind between 

the flaws that blow ! 
With fiendish laughter, 
Hereafter, 
This false physician 
Will mock thee in thy perdition. 

Prince Henry. Speak ! speak ! 
Who says that I am ill ? 

1 am not ill ! I am not weak ! 

The trance, the swoon, the dream, is o'er ! 

I feel the chill of death no more ! 

At length, 

I stand renewed in all my strength ! 

Beneath me I can feel 

The great earth stagger and reel, 

As if the feet of a descending God 

Upon its surface trod, 

And like a pebble it rolled beneath his 

heel ! 
This, O brave physician ! this 
Is thy great Palingenesis ! 

{Drinks again.) 

The Angel. Touch the goblet no 
more ! 



It will make thy heart sore 

To its very core ! 

Its perfume is the breath 

Of the Angel of Death, 

And the light that within it lies 

Is the flash of his evil eyes. 

Beware ! O, beware ! 

For sickness, sorrow, and care 

All are there ! 

Prince Henry {sinking back). O thou 
voice within my breast ! 

Why entreat me, why upbraid me, 

When the steadfast tongues of truth 

And the flattering hopes of youth 

Have all deceived me and betrayed 
me ? 

Give me, give me rest, O rest ! 

Golden visions wave and hover, 

Golden vapors, waters streaming, 

Landscapes moving, changing, gleam- 
ing ! 

I am like a happy lover 

Who illumines life with dreaming ! 

Brave physician ! Rare physician ! 

Well hast thou fulfilled thy mission ! 

{His head falls on his book.) 

The A ngel {receding). Alas ! alas ! 
Like a vapor the golden vision 
Shall fade and pass, 
And thou wilt find in thy heart again 
Only the blight of pain, 
And bitter, bitter, bitter contrition ! 

Court-yard of the Castle. Hubert 
standing by the gateway. 

Hubert. How sad the grand old cas- 
tle looks ! 
O'erhead, the unmolested rooks 
Upon the turret's windy top 
Sit, talking of the farmer's crop ; 
Here in the court-yard springs the grass, 
So few are now the feet that pass ; 
The stately peacocks, bolder grown, 
Come hopping down the steps of stone, 
As if the castle were their own ; 
And I, the poor old seneschal, 
Haunt, like a ghost, the banquet-hall. 
Alas ! the merry guests no more 
Crowd through the hospitable door ; 
No eyes with youth and passion shine, 
No cheeks grow redder than the wine ; 
No song, no laugh, no jovia] din 
Of drinking wassail to the pin ; 



ISO 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



But all is silent, sad, and drear, 
And now the only sounds I hear 
Are the hoarse rooks upon the walls, 
And horses stamping in their stalls ! 

(A horn sounds .) 

What ho ! that merry, sudden blast 
Reminds me of the days long past ! 
And, as of old resounding, grate 
The heavy hinges of the gate, 
And, clattering loud, with iron clank, 
Down goes the sounding bridge of 

plank, 
As if it were in haste to greet 
The pressure of a traveller's feet ! 

{Enter Walter the Minnesinger.) 

Walter. How now, my friend ! This 
looks quite lonely ! 
No banner flying from the walls, 
No pages and no seneschals, 
No warders, and one porter only ! 
Is it vou, Hubert ? 
Hubert. Ah ! Master Walter ! 
// alter. Alas ! how forms and faces 
alter ! 
I did not know you. You look older ! 
Your hair has grown much grayer and 

thinner, 
And you stoop a little in the shoulder ! 
Hubert. Alack ! I am a poor old sin- 
ner, 
And, like these towers, begin to mould- 
er ; 
And you have been absent many a 
year ! 
Walter. How is the Prince ? 
Hubert. He is not here ; 

He has been ill : and now has lied. 
Walter. Speak it out frankly : say 
he 's dead I 
Is it not so? 

Hubert. No ; if you please, 

A strange, mysterious disease 
Fell on him with a sudden blight. 
Whole hours together he would stand 
Upon the terrace, in a dream, 
Resting his head upon his hand, 

t pleased when he was most alone, 
Like Saint John Nepomuck in stone, 
l king down into a stream. 
In the Round Tower, night after night, 
He sat, and bleared his eyes with 
books ; 



Until one morning we found him there 
Stretched on the floor, as if in a swoon 
He had fallen from his chair. 
We hardly recognized his sweet looks ! 
Ji 'alter. Poor Prince ! 
Hubert. I think he might have 

mended ; 
And he did mend ; but very soon 
The priests came flocking in, like rooks, 
With all their crosiers and their crooks, 
And so at last the matter ended. 
Walter. How did it end? 
Hubert. Why, in Saint Rochus 

They made him stand, and wait his 

doom ; 
And, as if he were condemned to the 

tomb, 
Began to mutter their hocus-pocus. 
First, the Mass for the Dead they 

chanted, 
Then three times laid upon his head 
A shovelful of churchyard clay. 
Saying to him, as he stood undaunted, 
" This is a sign that thou art dead, 
So in thy heart be penitent ! " 
And forth from the chapel door he went 
Into disgrace and banishment, 
Clothed in a cloak of hodden gray, 
And bearing a wallet, and a bell, 
Whose sound should be a perpetual 

knell 
To keep all travellers away. 

Walter. (), horrible fate ! Outcast, 

rejected, 
As one with pestilence infected ! 

Hubert. Then was the family tomb 

unsealed, 
And broken helmet, sword, and shield, 
Buried together in common wreck, 
As is the custom, when the last 
Of any princely house has passed," 
And thrice, as with a trumpet-blast, 
A herald shouted clown the stair 
The words of warning and despair, — 
"() Hoheneck I O Hoheneck !" 
// alter. Still in my soul that cry 

goes on, — 
Forever gone ! forever gone ! 
Ah, what a cruel sense of loss. 
Like a black shadow, would fall across 
The hearts of all. if he should d 
His gracious presence upon earth 
Was as a fire upon a hearth ; 
As pleasant songs, at morning sung, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



151 



The words that dropped from his sweet 

tongue 
Strengthened our hearts ; or, heard at 

night, 
Made all our slumbers soft and light. 
Where is he ? 

Hubert. In the Odenwald. 

Some of his tenants, unappalled 
By fear of death, or priestly word, — 
A holy family, that make 
Each meal a Supper of the Lord, — 
Have him beneath their watch and 

ward, 
For love of him, and Jesus' sake ! 
Pray you come in. For why should I 
With out-door hospitality 
My prince's friend thus entertain? 
Walter. I would a moment here re- 
main. 
But you, good Hubert, go before, 
Fill me a goblet of May-drink, 
As aromatic as the May 
From which it steals the breath away, 
And which he loved so well of yore ; 
It is of him that I would think. 
You shall attend me, when I call, 
In the ancestral banquet-hall. 
Unseen companions, guests of air, 
You cannot wait on, will be there ; 
They taste not food, they drink not 

wine, 
But their soft eyes look into mine, 
And their lips speak to me, and all 
The vast and shadowy banquet-hall 
Is full of looks and words divine ! 

{Leaning over the parapet?) 

The day is done ; and slowly from the 

scene 
The stooping sun upgathers his spent 

shafts, 
And puts them back into his golden 



quiver 



Below me in the valley, deep and green 

As goblets are, from which in thirsty 
draughts 

We drink its. wine, the swift and man- 
tling river 

Flows on triumphant through these 
lovely regions, 

Etched with the shadows of its sombre 
m argent, 

And soft, reflected clouds of gold and 
argent ! 



Yes, there it flows, forever, broad and 

still, 
As when the vanguard of the Roman 

legions 
First saw it from the top of yonder hill ! 
How beautiful it is ! Fresh fields of 

wheat, 
Vineyard, and town, and tower with 

fluttering flag, 
The consecrated chapel on the crag, 
And the white hamlet gathered round 

its base, 
Like Mary sitting at her Saviour's feet, 
And looking up at his beloved face ! 
O friend ! O best of friends ! Thy 

absence more 
Than the impending night darkens the 

landscape o'er ! 

II. 

A farm in the Odenwald. A garden ; 
morning; Prince Henry seated, 
with a book. Elsie, at a distance > 
gathering /lowers. 

Prince Henry {reading). One morn- 
ing, all alone, 
Out of his convent of gray stone, 
Into the forest older, darker, grayer, 
His lips moving as if in prayer, 
His head sunken upon his breast 
As in a dream of rest, 
Walked the Monk Felix. All about 
The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, 
Filling the summer air ; 
And within the woodlands as he trod, 
The dusk was like the Truce of God 
With worldly woe and care ; 
Under him lay the golden moss; 
And above him the boughs of hoary 

trees 
Waved, and made the sign of the cross, 
And whispered their Benedicites ; 
And from the ground 
Rose an odor sweet and fragrant 
Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant 
Vines that wandered, 
Seeking the sunshine, round and round. 

These he heeded not, but pondered 
On the volume in his hand, 
A volume of Saint Augustine, 
Wherein he read of the unseen 
Splendors of God's great town 
In the unknown land, 



152 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



And, with his eyes cast down 

In humility, he said : 

" I believe, O God, 

"What herein I have read. 

But, alas ! I do not understand ! " 

And lo ! he heard 

The sudden singing of a bird, 

A snow-white bird, that from a cloud 

Dropped down, 

And among the branches brown 

Sat singing 

So sweet, and clear, and loud. 

It seemed a thousand harp-strings ring- 
ing. 

And the Monk Felix closed his book 

And long, long, 

With rapturous look, 

He listened to the song, 

And hardly breathed or stirred, 

Until he saw, as in a vision, 

The land Elysian, 

And in the heavenly city heard 

Angelic feet 

Fall on the golden flagging of the street. 

And he would fain 

Have caught the wondrous bird, 

But strove in vain ; 

For it flew away, away, 

Far over hill and dell, 

And instead of its sweet singing 

He heard the convent bell 

Suddenly in the silence ringing 

For the service of noonday. 

And he retraced 

His pathway homeward sadly and in 
haste. 

In the convent there was a change ! 
Fie looked lor each well-known lace, 
But the faces were new and strange ; 
New figures sat in the oaken stalls, 
New voices chanted in the choir ; 
Yet the place was the same place, 
The same dusky walls 
Of cold, gray stone, 
The same cloisters and belfry and spire. 

A stranger and alone 

Among that brotherhood 

The Monk Felix stood. 

" Forty years," said a Friar, 

*' Have I been Prior 

Of this convent in the wood, 

But for that space 

Never have I beheld thy face ! " 



The heart of the Monk Felix fell : 

And he answered, with submissive tone, 

" This morning, after the hour of Prime, 

I left my cell, 

And wandered forth alone, 

Listening all the time 

To the melodious singing 

Of a beautiful white bird, 

Until I heard 

The bells of the convent ringing 

Noon from their noisy towers. 

It was as if I dreamed ; » 

For what to me had seemed 

Moments only, had been hours ! " 

"Years ! " said a voice close by. 

It was an aged monk who spoke, 

From a bench of oak 

Fastened against the wall ; — 

He was the oldest monk of all. 

For a whole century 

Had he been there. 

Serving God in prayer, 

The meekest and humblest of his crea- 
tures. 

He remembered well the features 

Of Felix, and he said, 

Speaking distinct and slow : 

" One hundred years ago, 

When I was a novice in this place, 

T^iere was here a monk, full of God's 
grace, 

Who bore the name 

Of Felix, and this man must be the 
same." 

And straightway 

They brought forth to the light of day 

A volume old and brown, 

A huge tome, bound 

In brass and wild-boar's hide, 

Wherein were written down 

The names of all who had died 

In the convent, since it was edified. 

And there they found, 

Just as the old monk said, 

That on a certain day and date, 

One hundred years before, 

Had gone forth from the convent gate 

The Monk Felix, and never more 

Had entered that sacred doer. 

He had been counted among the dead I 

And they knew, at last, 

That, such had been the power 

Of that celestial and immortal song, 




THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



iS3 



A hundred years had passed, 
And had not seemed so long 
As a single hour ! 

(Elsie comes in with flowers.") 

Elsie. Here are flowers for you, 
But they are not all for you. 
Some of them are for the Virgin 
And for Saint Cecilia. 

Prince Henry. As thou standest 
there, 
Thou seemest to me like the angel 
That brought the immortal roses 
To Saint Cecilia's bridal chamber. 

Elsie. But these will fade. 

Prince Henry. Themselves will fade, 
But not their memory, 
And memory has the power 
To re-create them from the dust. 
They remind me, too, 
Of martyred Dorothea, 
Who from celestial gardens sent 
Flowers as her witnesses" 
To him who scoffed and doubted. 

Elsie. Do you know the story 
Of Christ and the Sultan's daughter? 
That is the prettiest legend of them all. 

Prince Henry. Then tell it to me. 
But first come hither. 
Lay the flowers down beside me, 
And put both thy hands in mine. 
Now tell me the story. 

Elsie. Early in the morning 
The Sultan's daughter 
Walked in her father's garden, 
Gathering the bright flowers, 
All full of dew. 

Prince Henry. Just as thou hast 
been doing 
This morning, dearest Elsie. 

Elsie. And as she gathered them, 
She wondered more and more 
Who was the Master of the Flowers, 
And made them grow 
Out of the cold, dark earth. 
" In my heart," she said, 
" I love him ; and for him 
Would leave my father's palace, 
To labor in his garden." 

Prince Henry. Dear, innocent child ! 
How sweetly thou recallest 
The long-forgotten legend, 
That in my early childhood 
My mother told me 1 



Upon my brain 

It reappears once more, 

As a birth-mark on the forehead 

When a hand suddenly 

Is laid upon it, and removed ! 

Elsie. And at midnight, 
As she lay upon her bed, 
She heard a voice 
Call to her from the garden, 
And, looking forth from her window, 
She saw a beautiful youth 
Standing among the flowers. 
It was the Lord Jesus ; 
And she went down to him, 
And opened the door for him ; 
And he said to her, " O maiden ! 
Thou hast thought of me with love, 
And for thy sake 
Out of my Father's kingdom 
Have I come hither : 
I am the Master of the Flowers. 
My garden is in Paradise, 
And if thou wilt go with me, 
Thy bridal garland 
Shall be of bright red flowers." 
And then he took from his finger 
A golden ring, 

And asked the Sultan's daughter 
If she would be his bride. 
And when she answered him with love, 
His wounds began to bleed, 
And she said to him, 
" O Love ! how red thy heart is, 
And thy hands are full of roses." 
" For thy sake," answered he, 
" For thy sake is my heart so red, 
For thee I bring these roses ; 
I gathered them at the cross 
Whereon I died for thee ! 
Come, for my Father calls. 
Thou art my elected bride ! " 
And the Sultan's daughter 
Followed him to his Father's garden. 

Prince Henry. Wouldst thou have 
done so, Elsie ? 

Elsie. Yes, very gladly. 

Prince Henry. Then the Celestial 
Bridegroom 
Will come for thee also. 
Upon thy forehead he will place, 
Not his crown of thorns, 
But a crown of roses. 
In thy bridal chamber, 
Like Saint Cecilia, 



154 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



Thou shalt hear sweet music, 
And breathe the fragrance 
Of flowers immortal: ! 
Go now and place these flowers 
Before' her picture. 

A room, in the farm-house. Twilight. 
Ursula spinning. Gottlieb asleep 
in his chair. 

Urstda. Darker and darker ! Hard- 
ly a glimmer 
Of light comes in at the window-pane ; 
Or is it my eyes are growing dim- 
mer? 
I cannot disentangle this skein, 
Nor wind it rightly upon the reel. 
Elsie ! 

Gottlieb {starting). The stopping of 
thy wheel 
Has wakened me out of a pleasant 

dream. 
I thought I was sitting beside a stream, 
And heard the grinding of a mill, 
When suddenly the wheels stood still, 
And a voice cried " Elsie " in my ear ! 
It startled me, it seemed so near. 
Ursula. I was calling her : I want 
a light. 
I cannot see to spin my flax. 
Bring the lamp, Elsie. Dost thou hear? 
Elsie {within). In a moment ! 
Gottlieb. Where are Bertha and 

Max? 
Ursula. They are sitting with Elsie 
at the door. 
She is telling them stories of the wood, 
And the Wolf, and little Red Riding- 
hood. 
Gottlieb. And where is the Prince? 
Ursula. In his room overhead ; 

I heard him walking across the floor, 
As he always does, with a heavy tread. 

(Elsie comes in with a lamp. Max 
and Bertha follow her ; and they 
all sing the Evening Song on the 
lighting of the lamps.) 

evening song. 

O gladsome light 
Of the Father Immortal, 
And of the celestial 
Sacred and blessed - 
Jesus, our Saviour 1 






Now to the sunset 
Again hast thou brought us ; 
And, seeing the evening 
Twilight, we bless thee, 
Praise thee, adore thee ! 

Father omnipotent ! 
Son, the Life-giver ! 
Spirit, the Comforter ! 
Worthy at all times 
Of worship and wonder ! 

Prince Henry {at the door). Amen ! 
Ursida. Who was it said Amen ? 

Elsie. It was the Prince : he stood 
at the door, 
And listened a moment, as we chanted 
The evening song. He is gone again. 
I have often seen him there before. 
Ursula. Poor Prince ! 
Gottlieb. I thought the house was 
haunted ! 
Poor Prince, alas ! and yet as mild 
And patient as the gentlest child ! 
Max. I love him because he is so 
good, 
And makes me such fine bows and ar- 
rows, 
To shoot at the robins and the spar- 
rows, 
And the red squirrels in the wood ! 
Bertha. I love him, too ! 
Gottlieb. Ah, yes ! we all 

Love him, from the bottom of our 

hearts ; 
He gave us the farm, the house, and the 

grange, 
He gave us the horses and the carts, 
And the great oxen in the stall, 
The vineyard, and the forest range ! 
We have nothing to give him but. our 
love ! 
Bertha. Did he give us the beautiful 
stork above 
On the chimney-top, with its large, 
round nest ? 
Gottlieb. No, not the stork ; by God 
in heaven, 
As a blessing, the dear white stork was 

given, 

But the Prince has given us all the rest. 

God bless him, and make him well again. 

Elsie. Would I could do something 

for his sake, 

Something to cure his sorrow and pain ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



iS5 



Gottlieb. That no one can ; neither 
thou nor I, 
Nor any one else. 

Elsie. And must he die ? 

Ursula. Yes ; if the dear God does 
not take 
Pity upon him, in his distress, 
And work a miracle ! 

Gottlieb. Or unless 

Some maiden, of her own accord, 
Offers her life for that of her lord, 
And is willing to die in his stead. 

Elsie. I will ! 

Ursula. Prithee, thou foolish child, 
be still ! 
Thou shouldst not say what thou dost 
not mean ! 

Elsie. I mean it truly ! 

Max. O father ! this morning, 

Down by the mill, in the ravine, 
Hans killed a wolf, the very same 
That in the night to the sheepfold came, 
And ate up my lamb, that was left out- 
side. 

Gottlieb. I am glad he is dead. It 
will be a warning 
To the wolves in the forest, far and wide. 

Max. And I am going to have his 
hide! 

Bertha. I wonder if this is the wolf 
that ate 
Little Red Ridinghood ! 

Ursula. O no ! 

That wolf was killed a long while ago. 
Come, children, it is growing late. 

Max. Ah, how I wish I were a man, 
As stout as Hans is, and as strong ! 
I would do nothing else, the whole day 

long, 
But just kill wolves. 

Gottlieb. Then go to bed, 

And grow as fast as a little boy can. 
Bertha is half asleep already. 
See how she nods her heavy head, 
And her sleepy feet are so unsteady 
She will hardly be able to creep up stairs. 

Ursula. Good night, my children. 
Here 's the light. 
And do not forget to say your prayers 
Before you sleep. 

Gottlieb. Good night ! 

Max and Bertha. Good night ! 

{They go out with Elsie.) 



Ursula {spinning). She is a strange 

and wayward child, 
That Elsie of ours. She looks so old, 
And thoughts and fancies weird and wild 
Seem of late to have taken hold 
Of her heart, that was once so docile 

and mild ! 
Gottlieb. She is like all girls. 
Ursula. ~" Ah no, forsooth ! 

Unlike all I have ever seen. 
For she has visions and strange dreams, 
And in all her words and ways, she 

seems 
Much older than she is in truth. 
Who would think her but fifteen ? 
And there has been of late such a 

change ! 
My heart is heavy with fear and doubt 
That she may not live till the year is 

out. 
She is so strange, — so strange, — so 

strange ! 
Gottlieb. I am not troubled with any 

such fear ; 
She will live and thrive for many a year. 

Elsie's chamber. Night. Elsie 
graying. 

Elsie. My Redeemer and my Lord, 
I beseech thee, I entreat thee, 
Guide me in each act and word, 
That hereafter I may meet thee, 
Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning, 
With my lamp well trimmed and burn- 
ing ! 

Interceding 

With these bleeding 

Wounds upon thy hands and side, 

For all who have lived and erred 

Thou hast suffered, thou hast died, 

Scourged, and mocked, and crucified, 

And in the grave hast thou been buried ! 

If my feeble prayer can reach thee, 

O my Saviour, I beseech thee, 

Even as thou hast died for me, 

More sincerely 

Let me follow where thou leadest, 

Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest, 

Die, if dying I may give 

Life to one who asks to live, 

And more nearly, 

Dying thus, resemble thee ! 



i 5 6 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



TtecKamherof Gottlieb and Ur- 

hlJt ■ t l f U $ ht - Elsie Ending 
by their bedside, weeping. 



Gottlieb The wind is roaring ; the 
rushing rain 5 

As i??£ \?"M w° f 3nd wind ™-pane, 
As ifthe Wild Huntsman of Rodenstein 
Boding evil to me and mine, ' 

6 train*? t0 " night with his Shostly 
In the brief lulls of the tempest wild, 
1 he dogs howl in the vard ; and hark ! 
Some one is sobbing in the dark, 
Here in the chamber! 
Elsie - It is I 

Ursula. Elsie ! what ails thee, my 
poor child ? y 

Elsie. I am disturbed and much dis- 
tressed, 
In thinking our dear Prince must die : 
I cannot close mine eves, nor rest 
Gottlieb What wouldst thou? In 
the Power Divine 
His healing lies, not i„ our own ■ 
it is in the hand of God alone 

Elsie Nay he has put it into mine, 
And into my heart ! 

( j? ttlu ; 1 '- " ,., Thy words are wild I 
Ursula \\ hat dost thou mean? my 

child I my child ' 
Elsie That for our dear Prince 
Henry's sake 
I will myseffthe offering make 
And give my life to purchase his 

Ursula Am I still dreaming, or 
awake? ■■ 

Thou speakest carelessly of death 
And yet thou knowest not what it' is. 

breath ' S cessa *'"°n of our 

S:lent and motionless we lie ■ 
And no one knoweth more than this 
I saw our little Gertrude die ■ 
She kit off breathing, and no more 
I smoothed the pillow beneath her head 
S he was more beautiful than before ' 
J ; ikc violets faded were her eves ■ ' 
. ; this we knew that she was dead 
Ihrough the open window looked the 

skies 
Into the chamber where she lay 
And the wind was like the sound of 
wings, 



As if angels came to bear her away 
h L" h ;! n ,L S ^ and «* these things, 



I found it difficult to stav • 
I longed to die, as she had died, 
And go forth with her, side by side 
]he Saints are dead, the Martvrs dead 

W d m ?» an ^ our *-ord ; and I ' 

Would follow in humility 
I he way by them illumined! 

Ursula. My child I my child I thou 

must not die I 
Elsie. Why should I five? Do I 
not know l 

The life of woman is full of woe r 
1 oiling on and on and on, 

AnH ^^V^ heart ' and tear ™ eyes, 
And silent hps, and in the soul 

^f.*^.* longings that arise. 
Which this world never satisfies ' 
borne more, some less, but of the whole 
Not one quite happy, no, not one! * 
Ursula it ,s the malediction of Eve I 
£Ist*. In place of ,t, let me receive 
1 1 e ^ e " e i d,c i I 1 °" of Mary, then. 

ism f W ° e is niC '' Ah ' woe 
Most wretched am I among mcn ! 

™e' S '' that ' shouId live to 

Thy death, beloved, and to stand 
Ab^th, , r ave: Ah, woe the day! 

Tie 1U,t SCe h - J s,ia11 

jneath the flower, of another land, 

•it Salerno, faraway ^ 

ver the mountains, over the sea, 
It is appointed me to die ' 
And it will seem no more to thee 
"'•'n .fat the village on market day 

{should a little longer stay y 

i nan 1 am wont 

Al I,f r . Even as thou savest ! 

siaveTu beaLS whcn «Sni 

I cann- antil mv sight 

itisfied with seeing thee. 
W ]i at ' , then ' if thtJ " wert dead ? 

Gottlieb. k , , 

wold I eye. thou art the light! ' 
The joy of "our old hearts art thou 1 

And wilt thou die? 

U F? ula rx, • Not now! not now 1 
not I 1St f ° r me ' and sha11 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



157, 






Be willing for my Prince to die ? 
You both are silent ; you cannot speak. 
This said I at our Saviour's feast 
After confession, to the priest, 
And even he made no reply. , 
Does he not warn us all to seek 
The happier, better land on high, 
Where flowers immortal never wither ; 
And could he forbid me to go thither? 
Gottlieb. In God's own time, my 
heart's delight ! 
When he shall call thee, not before ! 
Elsie. I heard him call. When 
Christ ascended 
Triumphantly, from star to star, 
He left the gates of heaven ajar. 
I had a vision in the night, 
And saw him standing at the door 
Of his Father's mansion, vast and splen- 
did, 
And beckoning to me from afar. 
I cannot stay ! 

Gottlieb. She speaks almost 

As if it were the Holy Ghost 
Spake through her lips, and in her 

stead ! 
What if this were of God ? 

Ursula. Ah, then 

Gainsay it dare we not. 

Gottlieb. Amen ! 

Elsie ! the words that thou hast said 
Are strange and new for us to hear, 
And fill our hearts with doubt and fear. 
Whether it be a dark temptation 
Of the Evil One, or God's inspiration, 
We in our blindness cannot say. 
We must think upon it, and pray ; 
For evil and good it both resembles. 
If it be of God, his will be done ! 
May he guard us from the Evil One ! 
How hot thy hand is ! how it trembles ! 
Go to thy bed, and try to sleep. 

Ursula. Kiss me. Good night ; and 
do not weep ! 

(Elsie goes out.) 

Ah, what an awful thing is this ! 

I almost shuddered at her kiss, 

As if a ghost had touched my cheek, 

I am so childish and so weak ! 

As soon as I see the earliest gray 

Of morning glimmer in the east, 1 

I will go over to the priest, 

And hear what the good man has to say ! 



A village chtirch. A woman kneeling 
at the confessional. 

The Parish Priest {from within). 

Go, sin no more ! Thy penance 

o'er, 
A new and better life begin ! 
God maketh thee forever free 
From the dominion of thy sin ! 
Go, sin no more ! He will restore 
The peace that filled thy heart before, 
And pardon thine iniquity ! 

{The woman goes out. The Priest 
comes forth, and walks slowly up 
and down the church.) 

blessed Lord ! how much I need 
Thy light to guide me on my way ! 
So many hands, that, without heed, 
Still touch thy wounds, and make them 

bleed ! 
So many feet, that, day by day, 
Still wander from thy fold astray ! 
Unless thou fill me with thy light, 

1 cannot lead thy flock aright ; 
Nor, without thy support, can bear 
The burden of so great a care, 
But am myself a castaway ! 

{A pause.) 

The day is drawing to its close ; 

And what good deeds, since first it rose, 

Have I presented, Lord, to thee, 

As offerings of my ministry? 

What wrong repressed, what right main- 
tained, 

What struggle passed, what victory 
gained, 

What good attempted and attained ? 

Feeble, at best, is my endeavor ! 

I see, but cannot reach, the height 

That lies forever in the light, 

And yet forever and forever, 

When seeming just within my grasp, 

I feel my feeble hands unclasp, 

And sink discouraged into night ! 

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent 

The strife and the discouragement ! 

{A patise.) 

Why stayestthou, Prince of Hoheneck? 
Why keep me pacing to and fro 
Amid these aisles of sacred gloom, 
Counting my footsteps as I go, 
And marking with each step a tomb ? 



158 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



Why should the world for thee make 

room, 
And wait thy leisure and thy beck? 
Thou comest in the hope to hear 
Some word of comfort and of cheer. 
What can I say ? I cannot give 
The counsel to do this and live ; 
But rather, firmly to deny 
The tempter, though his power be 

strong, 
And, inaccessible to wrong, 
Still like a martyr live and die ! 

(A pause.) 

The evening air grows dusk and brown ; 

I must go forth into the town, 

To visit beds of pain and death, 

Of restless limbs, and quivering breath, 

And sorrowing hearts, and patient eyes 

That see, through tears, the sun go 

down, 
But nevermore shall see it rise. 
The poor in body and estate, 
The sick and the disconsolate, 
Must not on man's convenience wait. 

{Goes out.) 

{Enter Lucifer, as a Priest.') 

Lucifer {with a genuflexion, mock- 
ing). This is the Black Pater- 
nosier. 

God was my foster, 

He fostered me 

Under the book of the Palm-tree ! 

St. Michael was my dame. 

He was born at Bethlehem, 

He was made of flesh and blood. 

God send me my right food, 

My right food, and shelter too, 

That I may to yon kirk go, 

To read upon yon sweet book 

Which the mighty God of heaven 
shook. 

Open, open, hell's gates ! 

Shut, shut, heaven's gates ! 

All the devils in the air 

The stronger be, that hear the Black 
Prayer ! 

{Looking round the church.) 

What a darksome and dismal place ! 
I wonder that any man has the face 
To call such a hole the House of the 
Lord, 



And the Gate of Heaven, — yet such is 

the word. 
Ceiling, and walls, and windows old, 
Covered with cobwebs, blackened with 

mould ; 
Dust on the pulpit, dust on the stairs, 
Dust on the benches, and stalls, and 

chairs ! 
The pulpit, from which such ponder- 
ous sermons 
Have fallen down on the brains of the 

Germans, 
With about as much real edification 
As if a great Bible, bound in lead, 
Had fallen, and struck them on the 

head ; 
And I ought to remember that sensa- 
tion ! 
Here stands the holy-water stoup ! 
Holy-water it may be to many, 
But to me, the veriest Liquor Ge- 
hennas ! 
It smells like a filthy fast-day soup ! 
Near it stands the box for the poor ; 
With its iron padlock, safe and sure. 
I and the priest of the parish know 
Whither all these charities go ; 
Therefore, to keep up the institution, 
I will add my little contribution 1 

{He puts in ?noney.) 

Underneath this mouldering tomb, 

With statue of stone, and scutcheon of 
brass, 

Slumbers a great lord of the village. 

All his life was riot and pillage, 

But at length, to escape the threatened 
doom 

Of the everlasting, penal fire, 

He died in the dress of a mendicant 
friar, 

And bartered his wealth for a daily 
mass. 

But all that afterwards came to pass, 

And whether he finds it dull or pleas- 
ant, 

Is kept a secret for the present, 

At his own particular desire. 

And here, in a corner of the wall, 
Shadowy, silent, apart from all, 
With its awful portal open wide, 
And its latticed windows on either side, 
And its step well worn by the bended 
knees 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



iS9 



Of one or two pious centuries, 
Stands the village confessional ! 
Within it, as an honored guest, 
I will sit me down awhile and rest ! 

{Seats himself in the confessional^) 

Here sits the priest ; and faint and low, 
Like the sighing of an evening breeze, 
Comes through these painted lattices 
The ceaseless sound of human woe ; 
Here, while her bosom aches and 

throbs 
With deep and agonizing sobs, 
That half are passion, half contrition, 
The luckless daughter of perdition 
Slowly confesses her secret shame ! 
The time, the place, the lover's name ! 
Here the grim murderer, with a groan, 
From his bruised conscience rolls the 

stone, 
Thinking that thus he can atone 
For ravages of sword and flame ! 
Indeed, I marvel, and marvel greatly, 
How a priest can sit here so sedately, 
Reading, the Whole year out and in, 
Naught but the catalogue of sin, 
And still keep any faith whatever 
In human virtue ! Never ! never ! 

I cannot repeat a thousandth part, 
Of the horrors and crimes and. sins and 

woes 
That arise, when with palpitating 

throes 
The graveyard in the human heart 
Gives up its dead, at the voice of the 

priest, 
As if he were an archangel, at least. 
It makes a peculiar atmosphere, 
This odor of earthly passions and 

crimes, 
Such as I like to breathe, at times, 
And such as often brings me here 
In the hottest and most pestilential 

season. 
To-day, I come for another reason ; 
To foster and ripen an evil thought 
In a heart that is almost to madness 

wrought, 
And to make a murderer out of a prince, 
A sleight of hand I learned long since ! 
He comes. In the twilight he will not see 
The difference between his priest and 

me ! 
In the same net was the mother caught ! 



Prince Henry {entering and kneel- 
ing at the confessional). Re- 
morseful, penitent, and lowly, 
I come to crave, O Father holy, 
Thy benediction on my head. 

Lucifer. The benediction shall be 
said 
After confession, not before ! 
'T is a God-speed to the parting guest, 
Who stands already at the door, 
Sandalled with holiness, and dressed 
In garments pure from earthly stain. 
Meanwhile, hast thou searched well 

thy breast ? 
Does the same madness fill thy brain ? 
Or have thy passion and unrest 
Vanished forever from thy mind ? 
Prince Henry. By the same mad- 
ness still made blind, 
By the same passion still possessed, 
I come again to the house of prayer, 
A man afflicted and distressed ! 
As in a cloudy atmosphere, 
Through unseen sluices of the air, 
A sudden and impetuous wind 
Strikes the great forest white with fear, 
And every branch, and bough, and 

spray 
Points all its quivering leaves one way, 
And meadows of grass, and fields of 

grain, 
And the clouds above, and the slanting 

rain, 
And smoke from chimneys of the town, 
Yield themselves to it, and bow down, 
So does this dreadful purpose press 
Onward, with irresistible stress. 
And all my thoughts and faculties, 
Struck level by the strength of this, 
From their true inclination turn, 
And all stream forward to Salern ! 
Lucifer. Alas ! we are but eddies of 
dust, 
Uplifted by the blast, and whirled 
Along the highway of the world 
A moment only, then to fall 
Back to a common level all, 
At the subsiding of the gust ! 

Prince Henry. O holy Father ! par- 
don in me 
The oscillation of a mind 
Unsteadfast, and that cannot find 
Its centre of rest and harmony ! 
Forevermore before mine eyes 



i6o 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



This ghastly phantom flits and flies, 
And as a madman through a crowd, 
With frantic gestures and wild cries, 
It hurries onward, and aloud 
Repeats its awful prophecies ! 
Weakness is wretchedness ! To be 

strong 
Is to be happy ! I am weak, 
And cannot find the good I seek, 
Because I feel and fear the wrong ! 
Lucifer. Be not alarmed ! The 
Church is kind, 
And in her mercy and her meekness 
She meets half-way her children's weak- 
ness, 
Writes their transgressions in the dust ! 
Though in the Decalogue we find 
The mandate written, " Thou shalt not 

kill !" 
Yet there are cases when we must. 
In war, for instance, or from scathe 
To guard and keep the one true Faith ! 
We must look at the Decalogue in the 

light 
Of an ancient statute, that was meant 
For a mild and general application, 
To be understood with the reservation, 
1 hat, in certain instances, the Right 
Must yield to the Expedient ! 
Thou art a Prince. I f thou shculdst die, 
What hearts and hopes would prostrate 

lie ! 
What noble deeds, what fair renown, 
Into the grave with thee go down I 
What acts of valor and courtesy 
Remain undone, and die with thee ! 
'J hou art the last of all thy race ! 
Willi thee a noble name expires. 
And vanishes from the earth's face 
The glorious memory of thy sires ! 
She is a peasant. In her veins 
Flows common and plebeian blood ; 
It is such as daily and hourly stains 
The dust and the turf of battle plains, 
By vassals shed, in a crimson flood, 
Without reserve, and without reward, 
At the slightest summons of their lord ! 
But thine is precious ; the fore-appointed 
Blood of kings, of God's anointed ! 
Moreover, what has the world in store 
For one like her, but tears and toil ? 
Daughter of sorrow, serf of the soil, 
A peasant's child and a peasant's wife, 
And her soul within her sick and sore 



With the roughness and barrenness of 

life ! 
I marvel not at the heart's recoil 
From a fate like this, in one so tender, 
Nor at its eagerness to surrender 
All the wretchedness, want, and woe 
That await it in this world below, 
For the unutterable splendor 
Of the world of rest beyond the skies. 
So the Church sanctions the sacrifice : 
Therefore inhale this healing balm, 
And breathe this fresh life into thine; 
Accept the comfort and the calm 
She offers, as a gift divine ; 
Let her fall down and anoint thy feet 
With the ointment costly and most sweet 
Of her young blood, and thou shalt live* 
Prince Henry. And will the right- 
eous Heaven forgive? 
No action, whether foul or fair, 
Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere 
A record, written by fingers ghostly, 
As a blessing or a curse, and mostly 
In the greater weakness or greater 

strength 
Of the acts which follow it, till at length 
The wrongs of ages are redressed. 
And the justice of God made manifest ! 
Lucifer. In ancient records it is 

stated 
That, whenever an evil deed is done, 
Another devil is created 
To scourge and torment the offending 

one ! 
But evil is only good perverted, 
And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, 
But an angel fallen and deserted, 
Thrust from his Father's house with a 

curse 
Into the black and endless night. 

Prince Henry. If justice rules "the 

universe, 
From the good actions of good men 
Angels of light should be begotten, 
And thus the balance restored again. 
Lucifer. Yes; if the world were not 

so rotten, 
And so given over to the Devil ! 

Prince Henry. But this deed, is it 

good or evil ? 
Have I thine absolution free 
To do it, and without restriction ? 
Lucifer. Ay; and from w hatsoever 

sin 



— 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



161 



Lieth around It and within, 

From all crimes in which it may involve 

thee, 
I now release thee and absolve thee ! 
Prince Henry. Give me thy holy 

benediction. 

Lucifer {stretching forth his hand 
and muttering)* 

Maledictione perpetua 
Maledicat vos 
Pater eternus ! 

The A ngel (with the ceolian harp). 

Take heed ! take heed ! 
Noble art thou in thy birth, 
By the good and the great of earth 
Hast thou been taught ! 
Be noble in every thought 
And in every deed ! 
Let not the illusion of thy senses 
Betray thee to deadly offences. 
Be strong ! be good ! be pure ! 
The right only shall endure, 
All things else are but false pretences. 
I entreat thee, I implore, 
Listen no more 

To the suggestions of an evil spirit, 
That even now is there, 
Making the foul seem fair, 
And selfishness itself a virtue and a 

merit ! 

A room in the farm-house. 

Gottlieb. It is decided ! For many 
days, 
And nights as many, we have had 
A nameless terror in our breast, 
Making us timid, and afraid 
Of God, and his mysterious ways ! 
We have been sorrowful and sad ; 
Much have we suffered, much have 

prayed 
That he would lead us as is best, 
And show us what his will required. 
It is decided ; and we give 
Our child, O Prince, that you may live ! 
Ursula. It is of God. He has in- 
spired 
This purpose in her ; and through pain, 
Out of a world of sin and woe, 
He takes her to himself again. 
The mother's heart resists no longer ; 
With the Angel of the Lord in vain 
It wrestled, for he was the stronger. 

ii 



Gottlieb. As Abraham offered long 

ago , -r 

His son unto the Lord, and even 
The Everlasting Father in heaven 
Gave his, as a lamb unto the slaughter, 
So do I offer up my daughter ! 

(Ursula hides her face.) 

Elsie. My life is little, 
Only a cup of water, 
But pure and limpid. 
Take it, O my Prince ! 
Let it refresh you, 
Let it restore you. 
It is given willingly, 
It is given freely ; 
May God bless the gift ! 

Prince Henry. And the giver ! 

Gottlieb. Amen ! 

Prince Henry. I accept it ! 

Gottlieb. Where are the children? 

Ursula. They are already asleep. 

Gottlieb. What if they were dead ? 

In the garden. 

Elsie. I have one thing to ask of 

you. 
Prince Henry. What is it ? 

It is already granted. 

Elsie. Promise me, 

When we are gone from here, and on 

our way 
Are journeying to Salerno, you will 

not, 
By word or deed, endeavor to dissuade 

me 
And turn me from my purpose ; but 

remember 
That as a pilgrim to the Holy City 
Walks unmolested, and with thoughts 

of pardon 
Occupied wholly, so would I approach 
The gates of Heaven, in this great 

jubilee. 
With my petition, putting off from me 
All thoughts of earth, as shoes from off 

my feet. 
Promise me this. 
Prince Henry. Thy words fall from 

thy lips 
Like roses from the lips of Angelo : 

and angels 
Might stoop to pick them up ! 

Elsie. Will you not promise ? 



l62 



THE GOLDEX LEGEND. 



Prince Henry. If ever we depart 
upon this journey, 
So long to one or both of us, I promise. 
Elsie. Shall we not go, then? Have 
you lifted me 
Into the air, only to hurl me back 
Wounded upon the ground ? and of- 
fered me 
The waters of eternal life, to bid me 
Drink the polluted puddlesof thisworld? 
Prince Henry. O Elsie ! what a 
lesson thou dost teach me ! 
The life which is, and that which is to 

come, 
Suspended hang in such nice equipoise 
A breath disturbs the balance ; and 

that scale 
In which we throw our hearts prepon- 
derates, 
And the other, likean empty one, fliesup, 
And is accounted vanity and air ! 
To me the thought of death is terrible, 
Having such hold on life. To thee it 

is not 
So much even as the lifting of a latch ; 
Only a step into the open air 
Out of a tent already luminous 
With light that shines through its trans- 
parent walls ! 
O pure in heart ! from thy sweet dust 

shall grow 
Lilies, upon whose petals will be written 
"Ave Maria" in characters of gold ! 

III. 

A street in Strasburg. Night. 
Prince Henry wandering alone, 
wrapped in a cloak. 

Prince Henry. Still is the night. 

The sound of feet 
Has died away from the empty street, 
And like an artisan, bending down 
His head on his anvil, the dark town 
Sleeps, with a slumber deep and sweet. 
Sleepless and restless, I alone, 
In the dusk and damp of these walls of 

stone, 
Wander and weep in my remorse ! 

Crier of the Dead (ringing a bell). 

Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 






Prince Henry. Hark ! with what 
accents loud and hoarse 
This warder on the walls of death 
Sends forth the challenge of his breath ! 
I see the dead that sleep in the grave ! 
They rise up and their garments wave, 
Dimly- and spectral, as they rise, 
With the light of another world in their 
eyes ! 

Crier of the Dead. 

Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

Prince Henry. Why for the dead, 

who are at rest ? 
Pray for the living, in whose breast 
The struggle between right and wrong 
Is raging terrible and strong, 
As when good angels war with devils ! 
This is the Master of the Revels, 
Who, at Life's flowing feast, proposes 
Thehealth of absent friends, and pledges, 
Not in bright goblets crowned with roses, 
And tinkling as we touch their edges, 
But with his dismal, tinkling bell, 
That mocks and mimics their funeral 

knell ! 

Crier of the Dead. 

Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 

Prince Henry. Wake not, beloved ! 

be thy sleep 
Silent as night is, and as deep I 
There walks a sentinel at thy gate 
Whose heart is heavy and desolate, 
And the heavings of whose bosom 

number 
The respirations of thy slumber, 
As if some strange, mysterious fate 
Had linked two hearts in one, and mine 
Went madly wheeling about thine, 
Only with wider and wilder sweep ! 

Crier of the Dead (at a dista?ice). 



Wake ! wake ! 
All ye that sleep ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 
Pray for the Dead ! 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



163 



Prince Henry. Lo ! with what 

depth of blackness thrown 
Against the clouds, far up the skies 
The walls of the cathedral rise, 
Like a mysterious grove of stone, 
With fitful lights and shadows blending, 
As from behind, the moon, ascending, 
Lightsits dim aisles and pathsunknown I 
The wind is rising ; but the boughs 
Rise not and fall not with the wind 
That thro', their foliage sobs and soughs ; 
Only the cloudy rack behind, 
Drifting onward, wild and ragged, 
Gives to each spire and buttress jagged 
A seeming motion undefined. 
Below on the square, an armed knight, 
Still as a statue and as white, 
Sits on his steed, and the moonbeams 

quiver 
Upon the points of his armor bright 
As on the ripples of a river. 
He lifts the visor from his cheek, 
And beckons, and makes as he would 

speak. 
Walter the Minnesinger. Friend ! 

can you tell me where alight 
Thuringia's horsemen for the night ? 
For I have lingered in the rear, 
And wander vainly up and down. 
Prince Henry. I am a stranger in 

the town, 
As thou art ; but the voice I hear 
Is not a stranger to mine ear. 
Thou art Walter of the Vogelweid ! 
Walter. Thou hast guessed rightly ; 

and thy name 
Is Henry of Hoheneck ! 
Prince Henry. Ay, the same. 

Walter {embracing him). Come 

closer, closer to my side ! 
What brings thee hither ? What potent 

charm 
Has drawn thee from thy German farm 
Into the old Alsatian city ? 
Prince Henry. A tale of wonder and 

of pity ! 
A wretched man, almost by stealth 
Dragging my body to Salern, 
In the vain hope and search for health, 
And destined never to return. 
Already thou hast heard the rest. 
But what brings thee, thus armed and 

dight 
In the equipments of a knight ? 



Walter. Dost thou not see upon my 
breast 
The cross of the Crusaders shine ? 
My pathway leads to Palestine. 
Prince Henry. Ah, would that way 
were also mine ! 

noble poet ! thou whose heart 
Is like a nest of singing-birds 
Rocked on the topmost bough of life, 
Wilt thou, too, from our sky depart, 
And in the clangor of the strife 
Mingle the music of thy words ? 

Walter. My hopes are high, my 
heart is proud, 
And like a trumpet long and loud, 
Thither my thoughts all clang and ring ! 
My life is in my hand, and lo ! 

1 grasp and bend it as a bow, 

And shoot forth from its trembling string 
An arrow, that shall be, perchance, 
Like the arrow of the Israelite king 
Shot from the window toward the east, 
That of the Lord's deliverance ! 

Prince Henry. My life, alas ! is what 
thou seest ! 

enviable fate ! to be 

Strong, beautiful, and armed like thee 

With lyre and sword, with song and 
steel ; 

A hand to smite, a heart to feel ! 

Thy heart, thy hand, thy lyre, thy sword, 

Thou givest all unto thy Lord ; 

While I, so mean and abject grown, 

Am thinking of myself alone. 

Walter. Be patient : Time will rein- 
state 

Thy health and fortunes. 

Prince Henry. 'T is too late ! 

1 cannot strive against my fate ! 

Walter. Come with me ; for my 

steed is weary ; 
Our journey has been long and dreary, 
And, dreaming of his stall, he dints 
With his impatient hoofs the flints. 
Prince Henry {aside). I am ashamed, 

in my disgrace, 
To look into that noble face ! 
To-morrow, Walter, let it be. 

Walter. To-morrow, at the dawn of 

day, # 
I shall again be on my way. 
Come with me to the hostelry, 
For I have many things to say. 
Our journey into Italy 



164 



THE GOLDEX LEGEXD. 



Perchance together we may make ; 
Wilt thou not do it for my sake? 

Prince Henry. A sick man's pace 
would but impede 
Thine eager and impatient speed. 
Besides, my pathway leads me round 
To Hirschau, in the forest's bound, 
Where I assemble man and steed, 
And all things for my journey's need. 

{They go out.) 

Lucifer {flying over the city). Sleep, 
sleep, O city ! till the light 
Wake you to sin and crime again, 
Whilst on your dreams, like dismal rain, 
I scatter downward through the night 
My maledictions dark and deep. 
I have more martyrs in your walls 
Than God has ; and they cannot sleep ; 
They are my bondsmen and my thralls ; 
Their wretched lives are full of pain, 
Wild agonies of nerve and brain ; 
And every heart-beat, every breath, 

1 convulsion worse than death ! 
Sleep, sleep, O city ! though within 
The circuit of your walls there be 
No habitation free from sin, 
And all its nameless misery ; 
The aching heart, the aching head, 
Grief for the living and the dead, 
And foul corruption of the time, 

-ease, distress, and want, and woe, 
And crimes, and passions that may grow 
Until they ripen into crime ! 

Square in front of the Cathedral. 
Easter Sunday. Friar Clthdert 
preaching to the crowd from a pulpit 
in the open air. Prime Henry 
and Elsie crossing the square. 

Prince Henry. This is the day, 
when from the dead 
Our Lord arose ; and even-where, 
Out of their darkness and despair, 
Triumphant over fears and foes, 
The hearts of his disciples rose, 
When to the women, standing near, 
The Angel in shining vesture said, 
'" The Lord is risen ; he is not here ! " 
And, mindful that the day is come, 
( >n all the hearths in Christendom 
The fires are quenched, to be again 
Rekindled from the sun, that high 
Is dancing in the cloudless sky. 



The churches are all decked with flow- 
ers. 
The salutations among men 
Are but the Angel's words divine, 
4> Christ is arisen ! " and the bells 
Catch the glad murmur, as it swells, 
.And chant together in their towers. 
All hearts are glad ; and free from care 
The faces of the people shine. 
See what a crowd is in the square, 
Gayly and gallantly arrayed ! 
Elsie. Let us go back ; I am afraid ! 
Prince Henry. Nay, let us mount 

the church-steps here. 
Under the doorway's sacred shadow ; 
We can see all things, and be freer 
From the crowd that madly heaves and 

presses I 
Elsie. What a gay pageant ! what 

bright dresses ! 
It looks like a flower-besprinkled 

meadow. 
What is that yonder on the square ? 
Prince Henry. A pulpit in the open 

air, 
And a Friar, who is preaching to the 

crowd 
In a voice so deep and clear and loud, 
That, if we listen, and give heed, 
His lowest words will reach the ear. 
Friar Cuthbert {gesticulating and 

era 'king a postilion s ivhip\. 

What ho ! good people ! do you 

not hear? 
Dashing along at the top of his speed, 
Booted and spurred, on his jaded steed, 
A courier comes with words of cheer. 

Courier ! what is the news, I pray ? 
hrist is arisen ! " Whence come 

you ? " From court." 
Then I do not believe it ; you say it in 

sport. 

{Cracks his whip again.) 

here comes another, riding this 

way ; 
soon shall know what he has to 
say. 
Courier ! what are the tidings today? 
"Christ is arisen!" V >me 

you ? " From town." 
Then I do not believe it ; away with 
you, clown. 

{Cracks his whip more -y.) 



Ah, 
We 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



165 



And here comes a third, who is spur- 
ring amain ; 

What news do you bring, with your 
loose-hanging rein, 

Your spurs wet with blood, and your 
bridle with foam? 

" Christ is arisen ! " Whence come 



you. 



From Rome." 



Ah, now I believe. He is risen, indeed. 
Ride on with the news, at the top of 
your speed ! 

{Great applause among the crowd.") 

To come back to my text ! When the 

news was first spread 
That Christ was arisen indeed from the 

dead, 
Very great was the joy of the angels in 

heaven ; 
And as great the dispute as to who 

should carry 
The tidings thereof to the Virgin Mary, 
Pierced to the heart with sorrows seven. 
Old Father Adam was first to propose, 
As being the author of all our woes ; 
But he was refused, for fear, said they, 
He would stop to eat apples on the way ! 
Abel came next, but petitioned in vain, 
Because he might meet with his brother 

Cain ! 
Noah, too, was refused, lest his weak- 
ness for wine 
Should delay him at even' tavern-sign ; 
And John the Baptist could not get a 

vote, 
On account of his old-fashioned camel's- 

hair coat ; 
And the Penitent Thief, who died on 

the cross, 
Was reminded that all his bones were 

broken ! 
Till at last, when each in turn had 

spoken, 
The company being still at a loss, 
The Angel, who rolled away the stone, 
Was sent to the sepulchre, all alone, 
And filled with glory that gloomy prison, 
And said to the Virgin, "The Lord is 

arisen ! " 

( The Cathedral bells ring. ) 

But hark ! the bells are beginning to 

chime ; 
And I feel that I am growing hoarse. 



I will put an end to my discourse, 
And leave the rest for some other time. 
For the bells themselves are the best 

of preachers ; 
Their brazen lips are learned teachers, 
From their pulpits of stone, in the 

upper air, 
Sounding aloft, without crack or flaw, 
Shriller than trumpets under the Law, 
Now a sermon and now a prayer. 
The clangorous hammer is the tongue, 
This way, that way, beaten and swung, 
That from mouth of brass, as from 

Mouth of Gold, 
May be taught the Testaments, New 

and Old. 
And above it the great cross-beam of 

wood 
Representeth the Holy Rood, 
Upon which, like the bell, our hopes 

are hung. 
And the wheel wherewith it is swayed 

and rung 
Is the mind of man, that round and round 
Sways, and maketh the tongue to sound ! 
And the rope, with its twisted cordage 

three, 
Denoteth the Scriptural Trinity 
Of Morals, and Sj-mbols, and History; 
And the upward and downward mo- 
tions show 
That we touch upon matters high and 

low; 
And the constant change and transmu- 
tation 
Of action and of contemplation, 
Downward, the Scripture brought from 

on high, 
Upward, exalted again to the sky ; 
Downward, the literal interpretation, 
Upward, the Vision and Mystery ! 

And now, my hearers, to make an end, 
I have only one word more to say ; 
In the church, in honor of Easter day, 
Will be represented a Miracle Play ; 
And I hope you will all have the grace 

to attend. 
Chirst bring us at last to his felicity I 
Pax vobiscum ! et Benedicite ! 
In the CatJiedral. 
Chant. 
Kyrie Eleison ! 
Christe Eleison ! 



i66 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



Elsie. I am at home here in my 
Father's house ! 

These paintings of the Saints upon the 
walls 

Have all familiar and benignant faces. 
Prince Henry. The portraits of the 
family of God ! 

Thine own hereafter shall be placed 
among them. 
Elsie. How very grand it is and 
wonderful ! 

Never have I beheld a church so splen- 
did ! 

Such columns, and such arches, and 
such windows, 

So many tombs and statues in the chap- 
els, 

And under them so many confessionals. 

They must be for the rich. I should 
not like 

To tell my sins in such a church as this. 

Who built it ? 

Prince Henry. A great master of his 
craft, 

Erwin von Steinbach ; but not he alone, 

For many generations labored with him. 

Children that came to see these Saints 
in stone, 

As day by day out of the blocks they 
rose, 

Grew old and died, and still the work 
went on, 

And on, and on, and is not yetcompleted. 

The generation that succeeds our own 

Perhaps may finish it. The architect 

Built his great heart into these sculp- 
tured stones, 

And with him toiled his children, and 
their lives 

Were builded, with his own, into the 
walls, 

As offerings unto God. You see that 
statue 

Fixing its joyous, but deep-wrinkled 
eyes 

Upon the Pillar of the Angels yonder. 

That is the image of the master, carved 

By the fair hand of his own child, Sabina. 
Elsie. How beautiful is the column 

that he looks at ! 
Prince Henry. That, too, she sculp- 
tured. At the base of it 

Stand the Evangelists ; above their 
heads 



THE NATIVITY 

A MIRACLE-PLAY. 

INTROITUS. 

Prceco. Come, good people, all and 
each, 
Come and listen to our speech ! 
In your presence here I stand, 
With a trumpet in my hand, 
To announce the Easter Play, 
Which we represent to-day ! 
First of all we shall rehearse, 
In our action and our verse, 
The Nativity of our Lord, 
As written in the old record 
Of the Protevangelion, 
So that he who reads may run ! 

{Blows his trumpet.) 



Four Angels blowing upon marble 
trumpets, 

And over them the blessed Christ, sur- 
rounded 

By his attendant ministers, upholding 

The instruments of his passion. 

Elsie. O my Lord ! 

Would I could leave behind me upon 
earth 

Some monument to thy glory, such as 
this! 
Prince Henry. A greater monument 
than this thou leavest 

In thine own life, all purity and love ! 

See, too, the Rose, above the western 
portal 

Resplendent with a thousand gorgeous 
colors, 

The perfect flower of Gothic loveliness ! ' 
Elsie. And, in the gallery, the long 
line of statues, 

Christ with his twelve Apostles watch- 
ing us ! 

(A Bishop in armor, booted and 
spurred, passes ivith his train.') 

Prince Henry. But come away ; we 
have not time to look. 
The crowd already fills the church, and 

yonder 
Upon a stage, a herald with a trumpet, 
Clad like the Angel Gabriel, proclaims 
The Mystery that will now be repre- 
sented. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



167 



I. HEAVEN. 

Mercy {at the feet of God). Have 
pity, Lord ! be not afraid 
To save mankind, whom thou hast 

made, 
Nor let the souls that were betrayed 
Perish eternally ! 
Justice. It cannot be, it must not be ! 
When in the garden placed by thee, 
The fruit of the forbidden tree 
He ate, and he must die ! 
Mercy. ' Have pity, Lord ! let peni- 
tence 
Atone for disobedience, 
Nor let the fruit of man's offence 
Be endless misery ! 
Justice. What penitence proportion- 
ate 
Can e'er be felt for sin so great ? 
Of the forbidden fruit he ate, 
And damned must he be ! 
God. He shall be saved, if that within 
The bounds of earth one free from sin 
Be found, who for his kith and kin 
Will suffer martyrdom. 
The Four Virtues. Lord ! we have 
searched the world around, 
From centre to the utmost bound, 
But no such mortal can be found ; 
Despairing, back we come. 
Wisdom. No mortal, but a God 
made man, 
Can ever, carry out this plan, 
Achieving what none other can, 
Salvation unto all ! 
God. Go, then, O my beloved Son ! 
It can by thee alone be done ; 
By thee the victory shall be won 
O'er Satan and the Fall ! 

{Here the Angel Gabriel shall leave 
Paradise and fly towards the earth ; 
the jaws of Hell open below, and the 
Devils walk about, making a great 
noise.) 

II. MARY AT THE WELL. 

Mary. Along the garden walk, and 
thence 
Through the wicket in the garden fence, 

I steal with quiet pace, 
My pitcher at the well to fill, 
That lies so deep and cool and still 
In this sequestered place. 



These sycamores keep guard around ; 
I see no face, I hear no sound, 

Save bubblings of the spring, 
And my companions, who within 
The threads of gold and scarlet spin, 
And at their labor sing. 
The Angel Gabriel. Hail, Virgin 
Mary, full of grace ! 

{Here Mary looketh aroundher, trem- 
bling, and then saith :) 

Mary. Who is it speaketh in this 
place, 
With such a gentle voice ? 
Gabriel. The Lord of heaven is with 
thee now ! 
Blessed among all women thou, 
Who art his holy choice ! 
Mary {setting down the pitcher). 
What can this mean ? No one 
is near, 
And yet, such sacred words I hear, 
I almost fear to stay. 

{Here the Angel appearing to her, 
shall say :) 

Gabriel. Fear not, O Mary ! but 
believe ! 
For thou, a Virgin, shalt conceive 
A child this very day. 

Fear not, O Mary ! from the sky 
The majesty of the Most High 
Shall overshadow thee ! 

Mary. Behold the handmaid of the 
Lord ! 
According to thy holy word, 
So be it unto me ! 

{Here the Devils shall again make a 
great noise, under the stage.) 

III. THE ANGELS OF THE SEVEN PLAN- 
ETS, BEARING THE STAR OF BETH- 
LEHEM. 

The Angels. The Angels of the 
Planets Seven, 
Across the shining fields of heaven 

The natal star we bring ! 
Dropping our sevenfold virtues down, 
As priceless jewels in the crown 
Of Christ, our new-born King. 
Raphael. I am the Angel of the 
Sun, 
Whose flaming wheels began to run 



i6S 



THE GOLDEN LEGEXD. 



When God's almighty breath 
Said to the darkness and the Night, 
Let there be light ! and there was light ! 
I bring the gift of faith. 
Gabriel. I am the Angel of the 
Moon, 
Darkened, to be rekindled soon 

Beneath the azure cope ! 
Nearest to earth, it is my ray 
That best illumes the midnight way. 
I bring the gift of Hope ! 
A?iael. The Angel of the Star of 
Love, 
The Evening Star, that shines above 

The place where lovers be, 
Above all happy hearths and homes, 
On roofs of thatch, or golden domes, 
I give him Charity ! 
Zobiachcl. The Planet Jupiter is 
mine ! 
The mightiest star of all that shine, 

Except the sun alone ! 
He is the High Priest of the Dove, 
And sends, from his great throne above, 
Justice, that shall atone ! 
Michael. The Planet Mercury, 
whose place 
Is nearest to the sun in space, 

Is my allotted sphere ! 
And with celestial ardor swift 
I bear upon my hands the gift 
( )f heavenly Prudence here ! 
Uriel. I am the Minister of Mars, 
The strongest star among the Stan ! 

of power prelude 
The march and battle of man's life, 
And for the Buffering and the strife, 
I give htm Fortitude ! 

'. The Angel of the uttermost 
Of ail the shining, heavenly host, 

m the far-off expanse 
( )f the Saturnian, endless space 
I bring the last, the crowning grace, 
The gift of Temperance ! 

{A sudden light shines from the win- 
dows of the stable in the village be- 
low.) 

IV. THE WISE MEN OF THE EAST. 

The stable of the Inn. The Virgin 
and Child. Three Gypsy Kings, 
(. Melchior, atid Belshaz- 

ZAR, s/iall conic in. 



Gaspar. Hail to thee, Jesus of Naz- 
areth ! 
Though in a manger thou draw breath, 
Thou art greater than Life and Death, 

Greater than Joy or Woe ! 
This cross upon the line of life 
Portendeth struggle, toil, and strife, 
And through a region with peril rife 
In darkness shalt thou go ! 
Melchior. Hail to thee, King of 
Jerusalem ! 
Though humbly born in Bethlehem, 
A sceptre and a diadem 

Await thy brow and hand ! 
The sceptre is a simple reed, 
The crown will make thy temples bleed, 
And in thy hour of greatest need, 
Abashed thy subjects stand ! 
Belshazzar. Hail to thee, Christ of 
Christendom ! 
O'er all the earth thy kingdom come ! 
From distant Trebizond to Koine 

Thy name shall men adore ! 
Peace and good-will among all men, 
The Virgin has returned again. 
Returned the old Saturnian reign 
And Golden Age once more. 
The Child Christ. Jesus, the Son 
of God, am I, 
Born here to suffer and to die 
According to the prophecy, 

That other men may live ! 
The I 'irgin. And now these clothes, 
that wrapped him, take 
And keep them precious, for his sake; 
Our benediction thus we make, 
Naught else have we to give. 

(She gives them swaddling-ch /hes, 
and th irt.) 

V. THE FLIGHT INTO BGTPT. 

(Here shall JOSEPH come in. leading 
an ass, on which are Stated 
and the Child.) 

Mary. Here will we rest us, underthese 
O'erhanging branches ofthe tn 
Where robins chant their Litan. 
And canticles of i 

Joseph. My saddle-girths have given 

W.l 

With trudging through the heat V 
To yon [ think it is but | 

To rfde and hold the boy. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



169 



Mary. Hark ! how the robins shout 
and sing, 
As if to hail their infant King ! 
I will alight at yonder spring 
To wash his little coat. 
Joseph. And I will hobble well the 
ass, 
Lest, being loose upon the grass, 
He should escape ; for, by the mass, 
He 's nimble as a goat. 

{Here Mary shall alight and go to the 
spring.) 
Mary. O Joseph ! I am much afraid, 
For men are sleeping in the shade ; 
I fear that we shall be waylaid, 
And robbed and beaten sore ! 

{Here a band of robbers shall be seen 
sleeping, two of whom shall rise and 
come fo rwa rd. ) 
Dumachus. Cock's soul ! deliver up 

your gold ! 
Joseph. I pray you, Sirs, let go your 
hold! 
You see that I am weak and old, * 
Of wealth I have no store. 
Dumachus. Give up your money ! 
Titus. Prithee cease. 

Let these good people go in peace. 
Dumachus. First let them pay for 
their release, 
And then go on their way. 
Titus. These forty groats I give in fee, 
If thou wilt only silent be. 
Mary. May God be merciful to thee, 

Upon the Judgment Day ! 
Jesus. When thirty years shall have 
gone by, 
I at Jerusalem shall die, 
By Jewish hands exalted high 

On the accursed tree. 
Then on my right and my left side, 
These thieves shall both be crucified, 
And Titus thenceforth shall abide 

In paradise with me. 
{Here a great rumor of trumpets and 
horses, like the noise of a king with 
his army, and the robbers shall take 
flight.) 

VI. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNO- 
CENTS. 

King Herod. Potz-tausend ! Him- 
mel-sacrament ! 



Filled am I with great wonderment 

At this unwelcome news ! 
Am I not Herod ? Who shall dare 
My crown to take, my sceptre bear, 
As king among the Jews ? 

{Here he shall stride up and down and 
flourish his sword.) 

What ho ! I fain would drink a can 
Of the strong wine of Canaan ! 

The wine of Helbon bring 
I purchased at the Fair of Tyre, 
As red as blood, as hot as fire, 

And fit for any king ! 

{He quaff s great goblets of wine.) 

Now at the window will I stand, 
While in the street the armed band 

The little children slay : 
The babe just born in Bethlehem 
Will surely slaughtered be with them, 

Nor live another day ! 

{Here a voice of lamentation shall be 
heard in the street. ) 

Rachel. O wicked king ! O cruel 
speed ! 
To do this most unrighteous deed ! 
My children all are slain : 
Herod. Ho, seneschal ! another cup ! 
With wine of Sorek fill it up ! 
I would a bumper drain ! 
Rahab. May maledictions fall and 
blast 
Thyself and lineage, to the last 
Of all thy kith and kin ! 
Herod. Another goblet ! quick ! and 
stir 
Pomegranate juice and drops of myrrh 
And calamus therein ! 
Soldiers {in the street). Give up thy 
child into our hands ! 
It is King Herod who commands 
That he should thus be slain ! 
The Nurse Medusa. O monstrous 
men ! What have ye done ! 
It is King Herod's only son 

That ye have cleft in twain ! 
Herod. Ah, luckless day ! What 
words of fear 
Are these that smite upon my ear 

With such a doleful sound ! 
What torments rack my heart and head ! 
Would I were dead ! would 1 were dead, 
And buried in the ground ! 



170 



THE GOLD EX LEGEXD. 



{He falls dcivn and writhes as though 
eaten by worms. Hell opens, and 
Satan and Astaroth come forth, 
and drag him down.) 

VII. JESUS AT PLAY WITH HIS SCHOOL- 
MATES.' 

Jesus. The shower is over. Let us 
play, 
And make some sparrows out of clay, 
Down by the river's side. 
Judas. See, how the stream has over- 
flowed 
Its banks, and o'er the meadow road 
Is spreading far and wide ! 

{They draw water out of the river by 
channels, and form little pools. Je- 
si ^ makes twelve s. r of clay, 

and the other boys do the same.) 

Jesus. Look ! look ! how prettily I 
make 
These little sparrows by the lake 

nd down their necks and drink ! 
w will I make them sing and soar 
So far, they shall return DO more 
to this river's brink. 
Judis. That canst thou not ! They 
are but cl 
They cannot ring, n<>r fly av 

the meadow lands ! 
Jesus. Fly, fly ! you 

are ti 1 
And while you live, remember me 
Who made ymi with my hands. 

{Here I hall clap his hinds, 

the Sparrows shall ft \ . chir- 

<:■) 

Judas. Thou art a sorcerer, I know ; 
ir\s my mother told I 
I will not play with I 

{He strikes Jl n the right si<i 

Jesus. Ah, Judas. ! thou ha>t smote 
m 
An I shall be crucified. 

There thai! 1 

{Here J shall come in, and say :) 

Joseph. Ve wicked boys ! wh;. 
play. 
And break the holy Sab 1 v ? 

What, think ye, will your mothers say 



To see vou in such plight ! 
In such a sweat and such a heat, 
With all that mud upon your feet ! 
There 's not a beggar in the street 

.Makes such a sorry sight ! 

VIII. THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. 

{The Rabbi Ben Israel, with a long 
beard, sitting on a high stool, with 
a rod in his ha>; 

Rabbi. I am the Rabbi Ben Israel, 
Throughout this village known full well, 
And, as my scholars all will tell, 

■arned in things divin 
The Cabala and Talmud hoar 
Than all the prophets prize I more, 
For water tible lore, 

But Mishna is strong wine. 

My fame extends from West to East, 
And always, at the Puriffl feast, 
I am as drunk as any be I 

That wallows in h 
The wine it BO elateth me, 
That*] no difference can see 
Between " ed Hainan be 

And " . be M • !" 

Come hither, Jud.t ;<>t . 

. if thy 
I ; m the Rabbinical Book or not 

Why howl tl it ? 

Judas. In the Rabbi; . it 

th 
The I ■ when with i< 

h, 
Takes through tl ht ! 

Rabbi. Well, d* iv. ii thou 

art wi 
When the I >eath. who is full 

o! 

( !omes wh- k man 1 

What doth he to the 
Ju I him, dark 

and tall, 

from whit h cl 
Into Iun mouth a ill, 

he turneth w I 
R say to 

me 
What' be, 

That rp Bee, 

Jud/ts. The \ un in 

he dome, 







THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



171 



The Voice of the Murmuring of Rome, 
The Voice of a Soul that goelh home, 
And the Angel of the Rain ! 
Rabbi. Right are thine answers ev- 
ery one ! 
Now little Jesus, the carpenter's son, 
Let us see how thy task is done, 
Canst thou thy letters say ? 
Jesus. Aleph. 

Rabbi. What next? Do not stop yet ! 
Go on with all the alphabet. 
Come, Aleph, Beth ; dost thou forget? 
Cock's soul ! thou 'dst rather play ! 
Jesus. What Aleph means I fain 
would know, 
Before I any further go ! 
Rabbi, O, by Saint Peter ! wouldst 
thou so? 
Come hither, boy, to me. 
As surely as the letter Jod 
Once cried aloud, and spake to God, 
So surely shalt thou feel this rod, 
And punished shalt thou be ! 

Here Rabbi Ben Israel shall lift up 
his rod to strike Jesus, and his right 
arm shall be Pa?'alyzed.) 

ix. crowned with flowers. 

(Jesus sitting among his playmates 
crozuued with /lowers as their A'iug.) 

Boys. We spread our garments on 
the ground ! 
With fragrant flowers thy head is 

crowned, 
While like a guard we stand around, 

And hail thee as our King ! 
Thou art the new King of the Jews ! 
Nor let the passers-by refuse 
To bring that homage which men use 
To majesty to bring. 

(Here a traveller shall go by, and the 
boys shall lay hold of his garments 
and say :) 



Boys. Come hither ! and all rever- 
ence pay 
Unto our monarch, crowned to-day ! 
Then go rejoicing on your way, 
In all prosperity ! 
Traveller. Hail to the King of 
Bethlehem, 
Who weareth in his diadem 
The yellow crocus for the gem 
Of his authority ! 

(He passes by ; and others conte in, 
bearing on a litter a sick child.) 

Boys. Set down the litter and draw 

near ! 
The King of Bethlehem is here ! 
What ails the child, who seems to fear 
That we shall do him harm? 
The Bearers. He climbed up to the 
robin's nest, 
And out there darted, from his rest, 
A serpent with a crimson crest, 
And stung him in the arm. 
Jesus. Bring him to me, and let me 
feel 
The wounded place ; my touch can heal 
The sting of serpents, and can steal 
The poison from the bite ! 

(He touches the wound, and the boy 
beg bis to cry.) 

Cease to lament ! I can foresee 
That thou hereafter known shalt be 
Among the men who follow me, 
As Simon the Canaanite ! 

epilogue. 

In the after part of the day 

Will be represented another play, 

Of the Passion of our Blessed Lord, 

Beginning directly after Nones ! 

At the close of which we shall accord, 

By way of benison and reward, 

The sight of a holy Martyr's bones ! 



IV. 



The road to Hirschau. Prince Henry and Elsie, with their attendants, on 

Jiorseback. 

Elsie. Onward and onward the highway runs to the distant city, impatiently 
bearing 
Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of hate, of doing and daring ! 

frince He?iry. This life of ours is a wild asolian harp of many a joyous strain, 
But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, as of souls in pain. 



,H 



1 72 THE GOLDEN LEGEXD. 

Elsie. Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart that aches and bleeds with 
the stigma 
Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can comprehend its dark enigma. 
Prince Henry. Man is selrish, and seeketh pleasure with little care of what 
may betide ; 
Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon that rides by an angel's side ? 
Elsie. All the hedges are white with dust, and the great dog under the creak- 
ing wain 
Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the horses toil and strain. 

Pri>::e Henry. .Now they stop at the wayside inn, and the wagoner laughs 
with the landlord's daughter, 
!e out of the dripping trough the horses distend their leathern sides with water. 
Elsie. All through lite there are wayside inns, where man may refresh his sold 
with lo 
n the I may quench his thirst at rivulets fed by springs from above. 

Prime* H der, where rises the cross of stone, our journey along the 

highway end 
And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the broad green valley de 

sie. 1 am behind the beaten r \vd heat ; 

The air will L> tint will be softer under oui D< 

n a green Ian 
Elsie. Sweet is the air with the budding haws, and the valley stretching for 

m . ivr 

•\hite « >soming cherry trees, as if jn^t covered with 1 w. 

Prince Hi a white casc.ul mingaf nthill; 

hear it e it more, but it hangs like a banner wl till. 

Elsie. Damp and cool i :id cool the sound of the brook by 

What tie that i and lords it over a land «o wid 

Prime* i e of the Com I known 

d, 
1 I remember each tower and turret, remember the br 
th» 

little v a us the 1" the church are ringing 

Pri'-sts and peasants in on the arid ; lain. 

ng t-i wait, for I lee g a 

little ( 

n shall be set will cover the sky al as with ud. 

? on. > 
f Hirschauintki my part. I am well content 

\r That v ' with the 



'h a 1 1., 
ket of empty ft < 

nter this 
ice 
. tful, solemn, and rever- 

on each stair 
r, 
ies 
ice these various sorts of 
es ! 



Who ha\' ble 

in quite Mire it does ee 

lh n qu man 111 

Wh 

id 
t are a I ssed in 

mil 
I at times it reaiiy does me good 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



i73 






To come down among this brotherhood, 
Dwelling forever under ground, 
Silent, contemplative, round and sound; 
Each one old, and brown with mould, 
But filled to the lips with the ardor of 

youth, 
With the latent power and love of truth, 
And with virtues fervent and manifold. 

I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, 
When buds are swelling on every side, 
And the sap begins to move in the vine, 
Then in all cellars, far and wide, 
The oldest, as well as the newest, wine 
Begins to stir itself, and ferment, 
With a kind of revolt and discontent 
At being so long in darkness pent, 
And fain would burst from its sombre 

tun 
To bask on the hillside in the sun ; 
As in the bosom of us poor friars, . 
The tumult of half-subdued desires 
For the world that we have left behind 
Disturbs at times all peace of mind ! 
And now that we have lived through 

Lent, 
My duty it is, as often before, 
To open awhile the prison-door, 
And give these restless spirits vent. 

Now here is a cask that stands alone, 
And has stood a hundred years or 

more, 
Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, 
Trailing and sweeping along the floor, 
Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, 
Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave, 
Till his beard has grown through the 

table of stone ! 
It is of the quick and not of the dead ! 
In its veins the blood is hot and red, 
And a heart still beats in those ribs of 

oak 
That time may have tamed, but has not 

broke ! 
It comes from Bacharach on the 

Rhine, 
Is one of the three best kinds of wine, 
And costs some hundred florins the 

ohm ; 
But that I do not consider dear, 
When I remember that every year 
Four butts are sent to the Pope of 

Rome. 
And whenever a goblet thereof I drain, 



The old rhyme keeps running in my 
brain : 
At Bacharach on the Rhine, 
At Hochheim on the Main, 
And at Wiirzburg on the Stein, 
Grow the three best kinds of wine ! 

They are all good wines, and better 

far • 
Than those of the Neckar, or those of 

the Ahr. 
In particular, Wiirzburg well may 

boast 
Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost, 
Which of all wines I like the most. 
This I shall draw for the Abbot's 

drinking, 
Who seems to be much of my way of 

thinking. 

{Fills a flagon.') 

Ah ! how the streamlet laughs and 
sings ! 

What a delicious fragrance springs 

From the deep flagon, while it fills, 

As of hyacinths and daffodils ! 

Between this cask and the Abbot's lips 

Many have been the sips and slips ; 

Many have been the draughts of wine, 

On their way to his, that have stopped 
at mine ; 

And many a time my soul has hankered 

For a deep draught out of his silver 
tankard, 

When it should have been busy with 
other affairs, 

Less with its longings and more with 
its prayers. 

But now there is no such awkward con- 
dition, 

No danger of death and eternal perdi- 
tion ; 

So here 's to the Abbot and Brothers 
all, 

Who dwell in this convent of Peter and 
Paul! 

{He drinks.) 

O cordial delicious ! O soother of 

pain ! 
It flashes like sunshine into my brain ! 
A benison rest on the Bishop who sends 
Such a fudder of wine as this to his 

friends ! 
And now a flagon for such as may ask 



174 



THE GOLD EX LEGEXD. 



A draught from the noble Bacharach 

cask, 
And I will be gone, though I know full 

well 
The cellar's a cheerfuller place than 

the cell. 
Behold where he stands, all sound and 

■d. 
Brown and old in his oaken hood ; 
Silent he seems externally 

any Carthusian monk may be : 
But within, what a spirit of deep un- 

re- 
What a seething and simmering in his 
breast I 
fthe heaving of his threat heart 
ild burst his bell 
1 t me in :his button 

i quiet a little his turbulent mood. 

{Sets it running.) 

See! li torrents gleam and shine, 

had caught t he purple hti 
autumi n the Rhine, 

I ccnding and mingling with the 

■ stained with 
the bl< 
the innocent boy, irk 
ba< 

ken and crucified by th<- 
In thai am ienl town of Bai h 

lit ion upon those in! 
In thai ch I 

Th( vine 

ould deem it 

It first touching my lips to the 

I re in the midst of the current I 

nd, 

Like tit ilz in the t ' the 

river, 
ittg toll upon either hand. 
And much in teful to the giver. 

{He drinks.) 

Here, i r kind. 

h as in an- <>n may find, 

Su< h i litdit in would suit 

Th< drank wine <>ut i 

1. after all. it I a crime, 

l [ liffe! sli 



A jolly old toper ! who at a pull 
Could drink a postilion's jack-boot full, 
And ask with a laugh, when that v 

done, 
If the fellow had left the other one ! 
This wine id 

To the friars, who sit at the lower board. 
Ami cannot distinguish bad firoii 
And are far better off than if they could, 
I i rather the rude discip 
Than of anything more re: 

(Ei//s s.) 

Th, I M I'm 

Ft i dark ! 

\ el one line moi 

And then my work t r. 

I I : gain to the name of the Lord 1 

I I thai iwful nan d, 

That is s p, , lightly amor 

me pause awhile, and wash my pen ; 

Pure from blemish ami blol mu 

When it writes thai word oi mj 

Thus hare I labored on and 

ily through th< 1 ol John. 

ii be that from tl 
I 
hrisl h;: 

the dn e ! 

It 1 

it stands then- at tl if the 1" 

Like the sun in an i i 
Ah me ' when I think of that 
dn 

Think of writing it. line bv 1 
1 mil in 

• the trim 

I 
Tak( book of that 

i • 

inent 1 I 

Th !1 written. th< t ! 

I should not 1 

In open day. on t ' 

With •' 

i h "t I hi 

Wrote th. (1 1 

I h 

W 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



i75 



I 



Would not bear away the palm from 

mine, 
If we should compare them line for line. 

There, now, is an initial letter ! 
Saint Ulric himself never made a better ! 
Finished down to the leaf and the snail, 
Down to the eyes on the peacock's tail ! 
And now, as I turn the volume over, 
And see what lies between cover and 

' cover, 
What treasures of art these pages hold, 
All ablaze with crimson and gold, 
God forgive me ! I seem to feel 
A certain satisfaction steal 
Into my heart, and into my brain, 
As if my talent had not lain 
Wrapped in a napkin, and all in vain. 
Yes, I might almost say to the Lord, 
Here is a copy of thy Word, 
Written out with much toil and pain ; 
Take it, O Lord, and let it be 
As something I have done for thee ! 

{He looks from the window.) 

How sweet the air is ! How fair the 

scene ! 
I wish I had as lovely a green 
To paint my landscapes and my leaves ! 
How the swallows twitter under the 

eaves ! 
There, now, there is one in her nest ; 
I can just catch a glimpse of her head 

and breast, 
And will sketch her thus, in her quiet 

nook, 
For the margin of my Gospel book. 

{He makes a sketch^) 

I can see no more. Through the val- 
ley yonder 
A shower is passing ; I hear the thun- 
der 
Mutter its curses in the air, 
The Devil's own and only prayer ! 
The dusty road is brown with rain, 
And, speeding on with might and main, 
Hitherward rides a gallant train. 
They do not parley, they cannot wait, 
But hurry in at the convent gate. 
What a fair lady ! and beside her 
What a handsome, graceful, noble 

rider ! 
Now she gives him her hand to alight ; 
They will beg a shelter for the night. 



I will go down to the corridor, 
And try to see that face once more ; 
It will do for the face of some beautiful 

Saint, 
Or for one of the Maries I shall paint. 

{Goes out.) 

The Cloisters. The Abbot Ernes- 
tus pacing to and fro. 

Abbot. Slowly, slowly up the wall 
Steals the sunshine, steals the shade ; 
Evening damps begin to fall, 
Evening shadows are displayed. 
Round me, o'er me, everywhere, 
All the sky is grand with clouds, 
And athwart the evening air 
Wheel the swallows home in crowds. 
Shafts of sunshine from the west 
Paint the dusky windows red ; 
Darker shadows, deeper rest, 
Underneath and overhead. 
Darker, darker, and more wan, 
In my breast the shadows fall ; 
Upward steals the life of man, 
As the sunshine from the wall. 
From the wall into the sky, 
From the roof along the spire ; 
Ah, the souls of those that die 
Are but sunbeams lifted higher. 

{Enter Prince Henry.) 

Prince Henry. Christ is arisen ! 
A bbot. Amen ! he is arisen ! 

His peace be with you ! 
Prince Henry. Here it reigns for- 
ever ! 
The peace of God, that passeth under- 
standing, 
Reigns in these cloisters and these 

corridors. 
Are you Ernestus, Abbot of the con- 
vent? 
Abbot. I am. 

Prince Henry. And I Prince Hen- 
ry of Hoheneck, 
Who crave your hospitality to-night. 
Abbot. You are thrice welcome to 
our humble walls. 
You do us honor ; and we shall requite 

I fear, but poorly, entertaining you 
With Paschal eggs, and our poor con- 
vent wine, 
The remnants of our Easter holidays. 



176 



THE GOLDEX LEGEXD. 



Prince Henry. How fares it with 
the holy monks of Hirschau? 
Are all things well with them ? 

Abbot. All things are well. 

Prince Henry. A noble convent ! I 

have known it long 

By the report of travellers. I now see 

Their commendations lag behind the 

truth. 
You lie here in the valley of the Nacold 
As in a nest : and the still river, gliding 
Along its bed, is like an admonition 
How all things pass. Your lands are 

rich and ample, 
And your revenues large. God'sbene- 

diction 
Rests on your convent. 

Abbot. l>y our charities 

We strive to merit it. Our Lord and 

Master, 
When he departed, left us in his will, 
As our best legacy on earth, the poor ! 
These we have always with us ; had 

we not, 
Our hearts would grow as hard as are 
these stones. 
Prince Henry. If I remember right, 
the Counts of Calva 
Founded your convent. 
Abbot. Even as you say. 

Prince Henry. And, if I err not, it 

is very old. 
Abbot. Within these cloisters lie al- 
readv buried 
Twelve holy Abbots. Underneath the 

flat 
On which we stand, the Abbot William 

lies. 
Of blessed memory. 

Prince Henry. And whose tomb is 
that, 
Which bears the brass escutcheon ? 

Abbot. A benefactor's, 

Conrad, a Count of Calva, he who stood 
Godfaihcr to our bells. 

Prince Henry. Your monks are 
learned 
And holy men, I trust. 

Abbot. There are among them 

Learned and holy men. Yet in this aire 
We need another Hildebrand, to shake 
And purify us like a mighty wind. 
The world is wicked, and sometimes I 
wonder 



God does not lose his patience with it 

wholly, 
And shatter it like glass ! Even here, 

at times, 
Within these walls, where all should 

be at peace, 
I have my trials. Time has laid his 

hand 
Upon my heart, gently, not smiting it, 
But as a harper lays his open palm 
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations. 
Ashes are on my head, and on my lips 
Sackcloth, and in ray breast a heavii 
And weariness of life, that makes me 

ready 
To say to the dead Abbots under us, 
" Make room for me ! " Only 1 see 

the dusk 
Of evening twilight coming, and have 

not 
Completed half my task ; and so at 

times 
The thought of my shortcomings in this 

life 
Falls like a shadow on the life to come. 
Prince Henry. We must all die, and 

not the old alone ; 
The young have no exemption from 

that doom. 
Abbot. Ah, yes ! the young may die, 

but the old must ! 
That is the difference. 

Prince Henry. I have heard much 

laud 
Of your transcribers. Your Scriptorium 
Is famous among all ; your manuscript! 
Praised for their beauty and their ex- 
cellence. 
Abbot. That is indeed our boast. 

If you desire it, 
You shall behold these treasures. And 

meanwhile 
Shall the Refectorarius bestow 
Your horses and attendants for the 

night. 
(They go in. The \'cspcr-hc!l rings.) 

The Chapel. J'es/>crs ; after which 
the monks retire, a < horis/er lead- 
ing an old monk who is blind. 
Prince Henry. They are all gone, 
save one who lingers. 
Absorbed in deep and silent pra 
As if his heart could find no rest, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



177 



At times he beats his heaving breast 
With clenched and convulsive fingers, 
Then lifts them trembling in the air. 
A chorister, with golden hair, 
Guides hitherward his heavy pace. 
Can it be so ? Or does my sight 
Deceive me in the uncertain light ? 
Ah no ! I recognize that face, 
Though Time has touched it in his 

flight. 
And changed the auburn hair to white. 
It is Count Hugo of the Rhine, 
The deadliest foe of all our race, 
And hateful unto me and mine ! 

The Blind Monk. Who is it that 

doth stand so near 
His whispered words I almost hear ? 
Prince Henry. I am Prince Henry 

of Hoheneck, 
And you, Count Hugo of the Rhine ! 
I know you, and I see the scar, 
^The brand upon your forehead, shine 
And redden like a baleful star ! 

The Blind Monk. Count Hugo once, 

but now the wreck 
Of what I was. O Hoheneck ! 
The passionate will, the pride, the wrath 
That bore me headlong on my path, 
Stumbled and staggered into fear, 
And failed me in my mad career, 
As a tired steed some evil-doer, 
Alone upon a desolate moor, 
Bewildered, lost, deserted, blind, 
And hearing loud and close behind 
The o'ertaking steps of his pursuer. 
Then suddenly from the dark there 

came 
A voice that called me by my name, 



And said 



to 

1 " 



me, 



Kneel 



down and 
pray' 

And so my terror passed away, 
Passed utterly away forever. 
Contrition, penitence, remorse, 
Came on me, with o'erwhelming force ; 
A hope, a longing, an endeavor, 
By days of penance and nights of prayer, 
To frustrate and defeat despair ! 
Calm, deep, and still is now my heart, 
With tranquil waters overflowed ; 
A lake whose unseen fountains start, 
Where once the hot volcano glowed. 
And you, O Prince of Hoheneck ! 
Have known me in that earlier time, 
A. man of violence and crime, 

12 



Whose passions brooked no curb nor 

check. 
Behold me now, in gentler mood, 
One of this holy brotherhood. 
Give me your hand ; here let me kneel ; 
Make your reproaches sharp as steel ; 
Spurn me, and smite me on each cheek ; 
No violence can harm the meek, 
There is no wound Christ cannot heal ! 
Yes ; lift your princely hand, and take 
Revenge, if 't is revenge you seek ; 
Then pardon me, for Jesus' sake ! 
Prince Henry. Arise, Count Hugo ! 

let there be 
No further strife nor enmity 
Between us twain ; we both have erred ! 
Too rash in act, too wroth in word. 
From the beginning have we stood 
In fierce, defiant attitude, 
Each thoughtless of the other's right, 
And each reliant on his might. 
But now our souls are more subdued ; 
The hand of God, and not in vain, 
Has touched us with the fire of pain. 
Let us kneel down, and side by side 
Pray, till our souls are purified, 
And pardon will not be denied ! 

{They kneel.) 

The Refectory. Gaudiolum of Monks 
at ntidnight. Lucifer disguised as 
a Friar. 

Friar Paul {sings). 
Ave ! color vini clari, 
Dulcis potus, non amari, 
Tua nos inebriari 
Digneris potentia ! 

Friar Cuthbert. Not so much noise, 
my worthy freres, 
You '11 disturb the Abbot at his prayers. 

Friar Paul {sings). 

O ! quam placens in colore ! 

O ! quam fragrans in odore ! 

O ! quam sapidum in ore ! 

Dulce linguae vinculum ! 

Friar Cuthbert. I should think your 
tongue had broken its chain ! 

Friar Paul {sings). 
Felix venter quern intrabis ! 
Felix guttur quod rigabis ! 
Felix os quod tu lavabis ! 
Et beata labia ! 



i 7 3 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



Friar Cuthbert. Peace ! I say, peace ! 
Will you never cease ! 
You will rouse up the Abbot, I tell 
you again ! 
Friar John. No danger ! to-night 
he will let us alone, 
As I happen to know he has guests of 
his own. 
Friar Cuthbert. Who are they? 
Friar John. A German Prince and 
his train, 
Who arrived here just before the rain. 
There is with him a damsel fair to see, 
As slender and graceful as a reed ! 
When she alighted from her steed, 
It seemed like a blossom blown from a 
tree. 
Friar Cuthbert. None of your pale- 
faced girls for me ! 
None of your damsels of high degree ! 
Friar John. Come, old fellow, drink 
down to your peg ! 
But do not drink any farther, I beg ! 

Friar Paul {sings). 

In the days of gold, 
The days of old, 
Crosier of wood 
And bishop of gold ! 

Friar Cuthbert. What an infernal 
racket and riot ! 

Can you not drink your wine in quiet ? 

Why fill the convent with such scan- 
dals, 

As if we were so many drunken Van- 
dals? 

Friar Paul {continues). 

Now we have changed 
That law so good, 
To crosier of gold 
And bishop of wood ! 

Friar Citthbert. Well, then, since 
you are in the mood 
To give your noisy humors vent, 
Sing and howl to your heart's content ! 

Chorus of Monks. 

Funde vinum, funde ! 
Tanquam sint fluminis undae, 
Nee quaeras unde, 
Sed fundas semper abunde ! 

Friar John. What is the name of 
yonder friar, 



With an eye that glows like a coal of 

fire, 
And such a black mass of tangled 

hair? 
Friar Paul. He who is sitting there, 
With a rollicking, 
Devil may care, 
Free-and-easy look and air, 
As if he were used to such feasting and 

frolicking ? 
Friar John. The same. 
F?'iar Paid. He 's a stranger. You 

had better ask his name, 
And where he is going, and whence he 

came. 
Friar John. Hallo ! Sir Friar ! 
Friar Paul. You must raise your 

voice a little higher, 
He does not seem to hear what you ' 

say. 
Now, try again ! He is looking this 

way. 
Friar John. Hallo ! Sir Friar, 
We wish to inquire 
Whence vou came, and where you are 

going, 
And anything else that is worth the 

knowing. 
So be so good as to open your head. 
Lucifer. I am a Frenchman born 

and bred, 
Going on a pilgrimage to Rome. 
My home 

Is the convent of St. Gildas de Rhuys, 
Of which, very like, you never have 

heard. 
Monks. Never a word ! 
Lucifer. You must know, then, it is 

in the diocese 
Called the Diocese of Vannes, 
In the province of Brittany. 
From the gray rocks of Morbihan 
It overlooks the angry sea ; 
The very sea-shore where, 
In his great despair, 
Abbot Abelard walked to and fro, 
Filling the night with woo, 
And wailing aloud to the merciless seas 
The name of his sweet Heloise 1 
Whilst overhead 

The convent windows gleamed as red 
As the fiery eyes of the monks within, 
Who with jovial din 
Gave themselves up to all kinds of sin 1 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



179 



Ha ! that is a convent ! that is an abbey ! 

Over the doors, 

None of your death-heads carved in 

wood, 
None of your Saints looking pious and 

good, 
None of your Patriarchs old and shabby ! 
But the heads and tusks of boars, 
And the cells 

Hung all round with the fells 
Of the fallow-deer. 
And then what cheer ! 
What jolly, fat friars, 
Sitting round the great, roaring fires, 
Roaring louder than they, 
With their strong wines, 
And their concubines, 
And never a bell, 
With its swagger and swell, 
Calling you up with a start of affright 
In the dead of night, 
To send you grumbling down dark stairs, 
To mumble your prayers. 
But the cheery crow 
Of cocks in the yard below, 
After daybreak, an hour or so, 
And the barking of deep-mouthed 

hounds, 
These are the sounds 
That, instead of bells, salute the ear. 
And then all day 
Up and away 

Through the forest, hunting the deer ! 
Ah, my friends ! I 'm afraid that here 
You are a little too pious, a little too 

tame, 
And the more is the shame. 
'T is the greatest folly 
Not to be jolly ; 
That's what I think! 
Come, drink, drink, 
Drink, and die game ! 

Monks. And your Abbot What's-his- 
name? 

Lucifer. Abelard ! 

Monks. Did he drink hard ? 

Lucifer. O no ! Not he ! 
He was a dry old fellow, 
Without juice enough to get thoroughly 

mellow. 
There he stood, 
Lowering at us in sullen mood, 
As if he had come into Brittany 
Just to reform our brotherhood ! 



(A roar of laughter.} 

But you see 

It never would do ! 

For some of us knew a thing or two, 

In the Abbey of St. Gildas de Rhuys ! 

For instance, the great ado 

With old Fulbert's niece, 

The young and lovely Heloise. 

Friar John. Stop there, if you 
please, 
Till we drink to the fair Heloise. 

All {drinking and shouting). He- 
loise ! Heloise 

{The Chapel-bell tolls.) 

Lucifer {starting). What is that bell 

for? Are you such asses 
As to keep up the fashion of midnight 

masses? 
Friar Cuthbert. It is only a poor, 

unfortunate brother, 
Who is gifted with most miraculous 

powers 
Of getting up at all sorts of hours, 
And, by way of penance and Christian 

meekness, 
Of creeping silently out of his cell 
To take a pull at that hideous bell ; 
So that all the monks who are lying 

awake 
May murmur some kind of prayer for 

his sake, 
And adapted to his peculiar weakness ! 
Friar John. From frailty and fall — 
A II. Good Lord, deliver us all ! 
Friar Cuthbert. And before the bell 

for matins sounds, 
He takes his lantern, and goes the 

rounds, 
Flashing it into our sleepy eyes, 
Merely to say it is time to arise. 
But enough of that. Go on, if you please, 
With your story about St. Gildas de 

Rhuys. 
Lucifer. Well, it finally came to pass 
That, half in fun and half in malice, 
One Sunday at Mass 
We put some poison into the chalice. 
But, either by accident or design, 
Peter Abelard kept away 
From the chapel that day, 
And a poor, young friar, who in his stead 
Drank the sacramental wine. 
Fell on the steps of the altar, dead ! 



i8o 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



But look ! do you see at the window there 
That face, with a look of grief and de- 
spair. 
That ghastly face, as of one in pain? 
Monks. Who ? where ? 
Lucifer. As I spoke, it vanished 

away again. 
Friar Cuthbert. It is that nefarious 
Siebald the Refectorarius. 
That fellow is always playing the scout, 
Creeping and peeping and prowling 

about ; 
And then he regales 
The Abbot with scandalous tales. 
Lucifer. A spy in the convent? 
One of the brothers 
Telling scandalous tales of the others ? 
Out upon him, the lazy loon ! 
I would put a stop to that pretty soon, 
In a way he should rue it. 
Monks. How shall we do it ? 
Lucifer. Do you, brother Paul, 
Creep under the window, close to the 

wall, 
And open it suddenly when I call. 
Then seize the villain by the hair, 
And hold him there, 
And punish him soundly, once for all. 
% Friar Cuthbert. As St. Dunstan of 
old, 
We are told, 

Once caught the Devil by the nose ! 
Lucifer. Ha ! ha ! that story is very 
clever, 
But has no foundation whatsoever. 
Quick ! for I see his face again 
Glaring in at the window-pane ; 
Now ! now ! and do not spare your blows. 
(Friar Paul opens the window sz/d- 
denly, .and seizes Siebald. They 
beat him.) 
Friar Siebald. Help ! help ! are you 

going to slay me ? 
Friar Paul. That will teach you 

again to betray me ! 
Friar Siebald. Mercy ! mercy ! 
Friar Paid {shouting and beating). 
Rumpas bellorum lorum, 
Vim confer amorum 
Morum verorum rorum 
Tu plena polorum ! 
Lucifer. Who stands in the doorway 
yonder, 



Stretching out his trembling hand, 
Just as Abelard used to stand, 
The flash of his keen, black eyes 
Forerunning the thunder ? 

The Monks {in confusion). The 

Abbot ! the Abbot ! 
Friar Cuthbert. And what is the 

wonder ! 
He seems to have taken you by surprise. 
Friar Francis. Hide the great 

flagon 
From the eyes of the dragon ! 
Friar Cuthbert. Pull the brown 

hood over your face ! 
This will bring us into disgrace ! 
Abbot. What means "this revel and 

carouse ? 
Is this a tavern and drinking-house ? 
Are you Christian monks, or heathen ' 

devils, 
To pollute this convent with your revels ? 
Were Peter Damian still upon earth. 
To be shocked by such ungodly mirth, 
He would write your names, with pen 

of gall, 
In his Book of Gomorrah, one and all ! 
Away, you drunkards ! to your cells, 
And pray till you hear the matin-bells ; 
You, Brother Francis, and you, Brother 

Paul! 
And as a penance mark each prayer 
With the scourge upon your shoulders 

bare ; 
Nothing atones for such a sin 
But the blood that follows the discipline. 
And you, Brother Cuthbert, come with 

me 
Alone into the sacristy ; 
You, who should be a guide to your 

brothers, 
And are ten times worse than all the 

others, 
For you I've a draught that has long 

been brewing, 
You shall do a penance worth the doing ! 
Away to your prayers, then, one and all ! 
I wonder the very convent wall 
Doesnotcrumbleandcrushyouinitsfal; I 

The neighboring Ntinnery. The Ab- 
bess Irmingard sitting with Elsie 
in the moonlight. 

Irmingard. The night is silent, the 
wind is still, 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



181 



The moon is looking from yonder hill 
Down upon convent, and grove, and 

garden ; 
The clouds have passed away from her 

face, 
Leaving behind them no sorrowful trace, 
Only the tender and quiet grace 
Of one, whose heart has been healed 

with pardon ! 

And such am I. My soul within 
Was dark with passion and soiled with 

sin. 
But now its wounds are healed again ; 
Gone are the anguish, the terror, and 

pain ; 
For across that desolate land of woe, 
O'er whose burning sands I was forced 

to go, 
A wind from heaven began to blow ; 
And all my being trembled and shook, 
As the leaves of the tree, or the grass of 

the field, 
And I was healed, as the sick are healed, 
When fanned by the leaves of the Holy 

Book! 

As thou sittest in the moonlight there, 
Its glory flooding thy golden hair, 
And the only darkness that which lies 
In the haunted chambers of thine eyes, 
I feel my soul drawn unto thee, 
Strangely, and strongly, and more and 

more, 
Asto one I haveknown and lovedbefore ; 
For every soul is akin to me 
That dwells in the land of mystery ! 
I am the Lady Irmingard, 
Born of a noble race and name ! 
Many a wandering Suabian bard, 
Whose life was dreary, and bleak, and 

hard, 
Has found through me the way to fame. 
Brief and bright were those days, and 

the night 
Which followed was full of a lurid light. 
Love, that of every woman's heart 
Will have the whole, and not a part, 
That is to her, in Nature's plan, 
More than ambition is to man, 
Her light, her life, her very breath, 
With no alternative but death, 
Found me a maiden soft and young, 
Just from the convent's cloistered 

school, 



And seated on my lowly stool, 
Attentive while the minstrels sung. 

Gallant, graceful, gentle, tall, 
Fairest, noblest, best of all, 
Was Walter of the Vogelweid ; 
And, whatsoever may betide, 
Still I think of him with pride ! 
His song was of the summer-time, 
The very birds sang in his rhyme ; 
The sunshine, the delicious air, 
The fragrance of the flowers, were 

there ; 
And I grew restless as I heard, 
Restless and buoyant as a bird, 
Down soft, aerial currents sailing, 
O'er blossomed orchards, and fields in 

bloom, 
And through the momentary gloom 
Of shadows o'er the landscape trailing, 
Yielding and borne I knew not where, 
But feeling resistance unavailing. 

And thus, unnoticed and apart, 
And more by accident than choice, 
I listened to that single voice 
Until the chambers of my heart 
Were filled with it by night and day. 
One night, — it was a night in May, — 
Within the garden, unawares, 
Under the blossoms in the gloom, 
I heard it utter my own name 
With protestations and wild prayers ; 
And it rang through me, and became 
Like the archangel's trump of doom, 
Which the soul hears, and must obey ; 
And mine arose as from a tomb. 
My former life now seemed to me 
Such as hereafter death may be, 
When in the great Eternity 
We shall awake and find it day. 

It was a dream, and would not stay ; 
A dream, that in a single night 
Faded and vanished out of sight. 
My father's anger followed fast 
This passion, as a freshening blast 
Seeks out and fans the fire, whose rage 
It may increase, but not assuage. 
And he exclaimed : ' ' No wandering bard 
Shall win thy hand, O Irmingard ! 
For which Prince Henry of Hoheneck 
By messenger and letter sues." 

Gently, but firmly, I replied : 
" Henry of Hoheneck I discard ! 



l82 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



Never the hand of Irmingard 
Shall lie in his as the hand of a bride ! " 
This said I, Walter, for thy sake ; 
This said I, for I could not choose. 
Alter a pause, my father spake 
In that cold and deliberate tone 
Which turns the hearer into stone, 
And seems itself the act to be 
That follows with such dread certainty ; 
" This, or the cloister and the veil ! " 
No other words than these he said, 
But they were like a funeral wail ; 
My life was ended, my heart was dead. 

That night from the castle-gate went 

down, 
With silent, slow, and stealthy pace, 
Two shadows, mounted on shadowy 

steeds, 
Taking the narrow path that leads 
Into the forest dense and brown. 
In the leafy darkness of the place, 
One could not distinguish form nor face, 
Only a bulk without a shape, 
A darker shadow in the shade '; 
One scarce could say it moved or stayed. 
Thus it was we made our escape ! 
A foaming brook, with many a bound, 
Followed us like a playful hound ; 
Then leaped before us, and in the hol- 
low 
Paused, and waited for us to follow, 
And seemed impatient, and afraid 
That our tardy flight should be betrayed 
By the sound our horses' hoof-beats 

made. 
And when we reached the plain below, 

paused a moment and chew rein 
To look back at the castle again : 
And we saw the windows all aglow 
W i t h lights, that were passing to and fro ; 
Our hearts with terror ceased to beat ; 
The brook crept silent to our feet : 
We knew what most we feared to know. 
Then suddenly horns began to blow ; 
And we heard a shout, and a heavy 

tramp, 
And our horses snorted in the damp 
Night-air of the meadows green and 

wide, 
And in a moment, side by side, 
So close, they must have seemed but 

one, 
The shadows across the moonlight run, 
And another came, and swept behind, 



Like the shadow of clouds before the 
wind ! 

How I remember that breathless flight 
Across the moors, in the summer night ! 
How under our feet the long, white road 
Backward like a river flowed, 
Sweeping with it fences and hedges, 
Whilst farther away, and overhead, 
Paler than I, with fear and dread, 
The moon fled with us, as we fled 
Along the forest's jagged edges ! 

All this I can remember well ; 

But of what afterwards befell 

I nothing further can recall 

Then a blind, desperate, headlong fall ; 

The rest is a blank and darkness all. 

When I awoke out of this swoon, 

The sun was shining, not the moon, 

Making a cross upon the wall 

With the bars of my windows narrow 

and tall ; 
And I prayed to it, as I had been wont 

to pray, 
From early childhood, day by day, 
Each morning, as in bed I lay ! 
I was lying again in my own room ! 
And I thanked God, inmy fever and pain, 
That those shadows on the midnight 

plain 
Were gone, and could not come again ! 
I struggled no longer with my doom ! 

This happened many years ago. 
I left my father's home to come 
Like Catherine to her martyrdom, 
For blindly I esteemed it so. 
And when I heard the convent door 
Behind me close, to ope no more, 
I felt it smite me like a blow. 
Through all my limbs a shudder ran, 
And on my bruised spirit fell 
The dampness of my narrow cell 
As night -air on a wounded man, 
Giving intolerable pain. 

But now a better life began. 

I felt the agony decrease 

By slow degrees, then wholly cease, 

Ending in perfect rest and peace 1 

It was not apathy, nor dulness, 

That weighed and pressed upon my 

brain, 
But the same passion I had given 
To earth before, DOW turned to heaven 
With all its overflowing fulness. 



- 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



183 






Alas ! the world is full of peril ! 

The path that runs through the fairest 

meads, 
On the sunniest side of the valley, leads 
Into a region bleak and sterile ! 
Alike in the high-born and the lowly, 
The will is feeble, and passion strong. 
We cannot sever right from wrong ; 
Some falsehood mingles with all truth ; 
Nor is it strange the heart of youth 
Should waver and comprehend but 

slowly 
The things that are holy and unholy ! 
But in this sacred, calm retreat, 
We are all well and safely shielded 
From winds that blow, and waves that 

beat, 
From the cold, and rain, and blighting 

heat, 
To which the strongest hearts have 

yielded. 
Here we stand as the Virgins Seven, 
For our celestial bridegroom yearning; 
Our hearts are lamps forever burning, 
With a steady and unwavering flame, 
Pointing upward, forever the same, 
Steadily upward toward the heaven ! 

The moon is hidden behind a cloud ; 

A sudden darkness fills the room, 

And thy deep eyes, amid the gloom, 

Shine like jewels in a shroud. 

On the leaves is a sound of falling rain ; 

A bird, awakened in its nest, 

Gives a faint twitter of unrest, 

Then smooths its plumes and sleeps 

again. 
No other sounds than these I hear ; 
The hour of midnight must be near. 
Thou art o'erspent with the day's fatigue 
Of riding many a dusty league ; 
Sink, then, gently to thy slumber ; 
Me so many cares encumber, 
So many ghosts, and forms of fright, 
Have started from their graves to-night, 
They have driven sleep from mine eyes 

away : 
I will go down to the chapel and pray. 

V. 

A covered bridge at Lucerne. 

Prince Henry. God's blessing on the 
architects who build 



The bridges o'er swift rivers and abysses 
Before impassable to human feet, 
No less than on the builders of cathe- 
drals, 
Whose massive walls are bridges thrown 

across 
The dark and terrible abyss of Death. 
Well has the name of Pontifex been 

given 
Unto the Church's head, as the chief 

builder 
And architect of the invisible bridge 
That leads from earth to heaven. 

Elsie. How dark it grows ! 

What are these paintings on the walls 

around us ? 

Prince Henry. The Dance Macaber ! 

Elsie. What? 

Prince Henry. The Dance of Death ! 

All that go to and fro must look upon it, 

Mindful of what they shall be, while 

beneath, 
Among the wooden piles, the turbulent 

river 
Rushes, impetuous as the river of life, 
With dimpling eddies, ever green and 

bright, 
Save where the shadow of this bridge 
falls on it. 
Elsie. O yes ! I see it now ! 
Prince Henry. The grim musician 
Leads all men through the mazes of that 

dance, 
To different sounds in different meas- 
ures moving ; 
Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes 

a drum, 
To tempt or terrify. 

Elsie. What is this picture ? 

Prince Henry. It is a young man 
singing to a nun, 
Who kneels at her devotions, but in 

kneeling 
Turns round to look at him ; and 

Death, meanwhile, 
Is putting out the candles on the altar ! 
Elsie. Ah, what a pity 't is that she 
should listen 
Unto such songs, when in her orisons 
She might have heard in heaven the 
angels singing ! 
Prince Henry. Here he has stolen 
a jester's cap and bells, 
And dances with the Queen. 



1 84 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



Elsie. A foolish jest ! 

Prince Henry. And here the heart 
of the new-wedded wife, 

Coming from church with her beloved 
lord, 

He startles with the rattle of his drum. 
Elsie. Ah, that is sad ! And yet 
perhaps 't is best 

That she should die, with all the sun- 
shine on her, 

And all the benedictions of the morn- 
ing, 

Before this affluence of golden light 

Shall fade into a cold and clouded gray, 

Then into darkness ! 

Prince Henry. Under it is written, 

11 Nothing but death shall separate thee 
and me ! " 
Elsie. And what is this, that follows 

close upon it ? 
Prince Henry. Death, playing on a 
dulcimer. Behind him, 

A poor old woman, with a rosary, 

Follows the sound, and seems to wish 
her feet 

Were swifter to o'ertake him. Under- 
neath, 

The inscription reads, " Better is Death 
than Life." 
Elsie. Better is Death than Life ! 
Ah yes ! to thousands 

Death plays upon a dulcimer, and sings 

That song of consolation, till the air 

Rings with it, and they cannot choose 
but follow 

Whither he leads. And not the old 
alone, 

But the young also hear it, and are still. 
Prince Henry. Yes, in their sadder 
moments. T is the sound 

Of their own hearts they hear, half full 
of tears, 

Which are like crystal cups, half filled 
with water, 

Responding to the pressure of a finger 

With music sweet and low and melan- 
choly. 

Let us go forward, and no longer stay 

In this great picture-gallery of Death ! 

I hate it ! ay, the very thought of it ! 
Elsie. Why is it hateful to you ? 
Prince Henry. For the reason 

That life, and all that speaks of life, is 
lovely, 



And death, and all that speaks of death, 
is hateful. 
Elsie. The grave itself is but a cov- 
ered bridge, 

Leading from light to light, through a 
brief darkness ! 
Prince Henry (emerging from the 
bridge). I breathe again more 
freely ! Ah, how pleasant 

To come once more into the light of 
day, 

Out of that shadow of death ! To hear 
again 

The hoof-beats of our horses on firm 
ground, 

And not upon those hollow planks, re- 
sounding 

With a sepulchral echo, like the clods 

On coffins in a churchyard ! Yonder lies 

The Lake of the Four Forest-Towns, 
apparelled 

In light, and lingering, like a village 
maiden, 

Hid in the bosom of her native moun- 
tains, 

Then pouring all her life into another's, 

Changing her name and being ! Over- 
head, 

Shaking his cloudy tresses loose in air, 

Rises Pilatus, with his windy pines. 

(They pass on.) 

The DeviVs Bridge. Prince Henry 
and Elsie crossing, with attend- 
ants. 

Guide. This bridge is called the 
Devil's Bridge. 
With a single arch, from ridge to ridge, 
It leaps across the terrible chasm 
Yawning beneath us, black and deep, 
As if, in some convulsive spasm,. 
The summits of the hills had cracked, 
And made a road for the cataract, 
That raves and rages down the steep ! 

Lucifer (under the bridge). Ha ! ha 1 

Guide. Never any bridge but this 
Could stand across the wild abyss ; 
All the rest, of wood or stone, 
By the Devil's hand were overthrown. 
He toppled crags from the precipice, 
And whatsoe'er was built by day 
In the night was swept away ; 
None could stand but this alone. 

Lucifer (under the bridge). Ha ! ha I 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



185 



Guide. I showed you in the valley a 
boulder 
•Marked with the imprint of his shoul- 
der ; 
As he was bearing it up this way, 
A peasant, passing, cried, " Herr Je ! " 
And the Devil dropped it in his fright, 
And vanished suddenly out of sight ! 
Lucifer (under the bridge). Ha! ha! 
Guide. Abbot Giraldus of Einsiedel, 
For pilgrims on their way to Rome, 
Built this at last, with a single arch, 
Under which, on its endless march, 
Runs the river, white with foam, 
Like a thread through the eye of a nee- 
dle. 
And the Devil promised to let it stand, 
Under compact and condition 
That the first living thing which crossed 
Should be surrendered into his hand, 
And be beyond redemption lost. 

Lticifer\under the bridge). Ha! ha! 

perdition ! 
Guide. At length, the bridge being 
all completed, 
The Abbot, standing at its head, 
Threw across it a loaf of bread, 
Which a hungry dog sprang after, 
And the rocks re-echoed with the peals 

of laughter 
To see the Devil thus defeated ! 
( They pass on. ) 
Lucifer [under the bridge). Ha ! 
ha ! defeated ! 
For journeys and for crimes like this 
I let the bridge stand o'er the abyss ! 

The St. Gothard Pass. 
Prince Henry. This is the highest 
point. Two ways the rivers 
Leap down to different seas, and as they 

roll 
Grow deep and still, and their majestic 

presence 
Becomes a benefaction to the towns 
They visit, wandering silently among 

them, 
Like patriarchs old among their shining 
tents. 
Elsie. How bleak and bare it is ! 
Nothing but mosses 
Grow on these rocks. 
Prince Henry. Yet are they not for- 
gotten ; 



Beneficent Nature sends the mists to 
feed them. 
Elsie. See yonder little cloud, that, 
borne aloft 
So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away 
Over the snowy peaks ! It seems to me 
The body of St. Catherine, borne by 
angels ! 
Prince Henry. Thou art St. Cath- 
erine, and invisible angels 
Bear thee across these chasms and 

precipices, 
Lest thou shouldst dash thy feet against 
a stone ! 
Elsie. Would I were borne unto my 
grave, as she was, 
Upon angelic shoulders ! Even now 
I seem uplifted by them, light as air ! 
What sound is that ? 

Prince Henry. The tumbling ava- 
lanches ! 
Elsie. How awful, yet how beautiful ! 
Prince Henry. These are 

The voices of the mountains ! Thus 

they ope 
Their snowy lips, and speak unto each 

other, 
In the primeval language, lost to man. 
Elsie. What land is this that spreads 

itself beneath us? 
Prince Henry. Italy ! Italy ! 
Elsie. Land of the Madonna! 

How beautiful it is ! It seems a garden 
Of Paradise ! 

Prince Henry. Nay, of Gethsemane 
To thee and me, of passion and of 

prayer ! 
Yet once of Paradise. Long years ago 
I wandered as a youth among its bowers, 
And never from my heart has faded quite 
Its memory, that, like a summer sunset, 
Encircles with a ring of purple light 
All the horizon of my youth. 

Guide. O friends ! 

The days are short, the way before us 

lon S ; 
We must not linger, if we think to reach 

The inn at Belinzona before vespers ! 

{They pass on.) 

A t the foot of the A ips. A halt un- 
der the trees at noon. 

Prince Henry. Here let us pause a 
moment in the trembling 



i86 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



cottage 



Shadow and sunshine of the roadside 

trees. 
And, our tired horses in a group as- 
sembling, 
Inhale long draughts of this delicious 

breeze. 
Our fleeter steeds have distanced our 

attendants ; 
They lag behind us with a slower pace ; 
We will await them under the green 

pendants 
Of the great willows in this shady 

place. 
Ho, Barbarossa ! how thy mottled 

haunches 
Sweat with this canter over hill and 

glade ! 
Stand still, and let these overhanging 

branches 
Fan thy hot sides and comfort thee 

with shade ! 
Elsie. What a delightful landscape 

spreads before us, 
Marked with a whitewashed 

here and there ! 
And, in luxuriant garlands drooping 

o'er us, 
Blossoms of grape-vines scent the sun- 
ny air. 
Prince Henry. Hark ! what sweet 

sounds are those, whose accents 

holy 
Fill the warm noon with music sad and 

sweet ! 
Elsie. It is a band of pilgrims, mov- 
ing slowly 
On their long journey, with uncovered 

feet. 

Pilgrims (chanting the Hymn of St. 
Hildebert). 

Me receptet Sion ilia, 
Sion David, urbs tranquilla, 
Cujus faber auctor lucis, 
Cujus portae lignum crucis, 
Cujus claves lingua Petri, 
Cujus cives semper laeti, 
Cujus muri lapis vivus, 
Cujus custos Rex festivus ! 

Lucifer (as a Friar in the proces- 
sion). Here am I, too, in the 
pious band, 
In the garb of a barefooted Carmelite 
dressed I 



The soles of my feet are as hard and 

tanned 
As the conscience of old Pope Hilde- 

brand, 
The Holy Satan, who made the wives 
Of the bishops lead such shameful 

lives. 
All day long I beat my breast, 
And chant with a most particular zest 
The Latin hymns, which I understand 
Quite as well, I think, as the rest. 
And at night such lodging in barns and 

sheds, 
Such a hurly-burly in country inns, 
Such a clatter of tongues in empty heads, 
Such a helter-skelter of prayers and 

sins ! 
Of all the contrivances of the time 
For sowing broadcast theseeds of crime, 
There is none so pleasing to me and 

mine 
As a pilgrimage to some far-off shrine ! 
Prince Henry. If from the outward 

man we judge the inner, 
And cleanliness is godliness, I fear 
A hopeless reprobate, a hardened sin- 
ner, 
Must be that Carmelite now passing 

near. 
L ucifer. There is my German Prince 

again. 
Thus far on his journey to Salern, 
And the lovesick girl, whose heated 

brain 
Is sowing the cloud to reap the rain ; 
But it 's a long road that has no turn ! 
Let them quietly hold their way, 
I have also a part in the play. 
But first I must act to my heart's con- 
tent 
This mummery and this merriment, 
And drive this motley flock of sheep 
Into the fold, where drink and sleep 
The jolly old friars of Benevent. 
Of a truth, it often provokes meto laugh 
To see these beggars hobble along, 
Lamed and maimed, and fed upon chaff, 
Chanting their wonderful piff and paff, 
And, to make up for not understanding 

the song, 
Singing it fiercely, and wild, and strong ! 
Were U not for my magic garters and 

staff, 
And the goblets of goodly wine I quaff, 










THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



187 



And the mischief I make in the idle 

throng, 
I should not continue the business long. 

Pilgrims {chanting). 

In hac urbe, lux solennis, 
Ver aeternum, pax perennis ; 
In hac odor implens caelos, 
In hac semper festum melos ! 

Prince Henry. Do you observe that 
monk among the train, 
Who pours from his great throat the 

roaring bass, 
As a cathedral spout pours out the rain, 
And this way turns his rubicund, round 
face? 
Elsie. It is the same who, on the 
Strasburg square, 
Preached to the people in the open air. 
Prince Henry. And he has crossed 
o'er mountain, field, and fell, 
On that good steed, that seems to bear 

him well, 
The hackney of the Friars of Orders 

Gray, 
His own stout legs ! He, too, was in 

the play, 
Both as King Herod and Ben Israel. 
Good morrow. Fnar ! 
Friar Cuthbert. Good morrow, no- 
ble sir ! 
Prince Henry. I speak in German, 
for, unless I err, 
You are a German. 

Friar Cuthbert. I cannot gainsay 
you. 
But by what instinct, or what secret 

Meeting me here, do you straightway 
divine 

That northward of the Alps my coun- 
try lies ? 
Prince Henry. Your accent, like St. 
Peter's, would betray you, 

Did not your 3-ellow beard and your 
blue eyes. 

Moreover, we have seen your face be- 
fore, 

And heard you preach at the Cathedral 
door 

On Easter Sunday, in the Strasburg 
square. 

We were among the crowd that gath- 
ered there, 



And saw vou play the Rabbi with great 
skill, 

As if, by leaning o'er so many years 

To walk with little children, vour own 
will 

Had caught a childish attitude from 
theirs, 

A kind of stooping in its form and gait, 

And could no longer stand erect and 
straight. 

Whence come you now? 

Friar Cuthbert. From the old mon- 
astery 

Of Hirschau, in the forest ; being sent 

Upon a pilgrimage to Benevent, 

To see the image of the Yirgin Man*, 

That moves its holy eyes, and some- 
times spea 

And lets the piteous tears run down its 
cheeks, 

To touch the hearts of the impenitent. 
Prince Henry. O. had I faith, as in 
the days gone by, 

That knew no doubt, and feared no 
mystery ! 
Lucifer {at a distanced. Ho, Cuth- 
bert ! Friar Cuthbert ! 
Friar Cuthbert. Farewell. Prince ! 

I cannot stay to argue and convince. 
Prince Henry. This is indeed the 
blessed Mary's land. 

Yirgin and Mother of our dear Re- 
deemer ! 

All hearts are touched and softened at 
her name ; 

Alike the bandit, with the bloody hand. 

The priest, the prince, the scholar, and 
the peasant, 

The man of deeds, the visionary dream- 
er, 

Pay homage to her as one ever present ! 

And even as children, who have much 
offended 

A too indulgent father, in great shame, 

Penitent, and yet not daring unattended 

To go into his presence, at the gate 

Speak with their sister, and confiding 
wait 

Till she goes in before and intercedes ; 

So men, repenting of their evil deeds, 

And yet not venturing rashly to draw 
near 

With their requests an angry fathers 
ear, 



i33 



THE GOLD EX LEGE XL). 



Offer to her their prayers and their 

confession, 
And she for them in heaven makes in- 
tercession. 
And if our Faith had given us nothing 

more 
Than this example of all womanhood, 
So mild, so merciful, so strong, so good, 
So patient, peaceful, loyal, loving, pure, 
This were enough to prove it higher 

and truer 
Than all the creeds the world had 
known before. 

Pilgrims chanting afar ojf~). 

I rbs cce! rbs beata, 

Supra petnun collocata, 

I'rbs in portu satis tuto 
! I longroquo te saluto, 
uspiro, 

,uiro ! 

The Inn at Genoa. A terrace o: 
looking t Night. 

Prince Henry. It is the sea. it is the 

In all : e immensity. 

ing and darkening in the distance ! 

i al, and sl< 
white ships haunt it to and fro, 
With all their ghostly sails unfurled, 
As phantoms from Mother world 

tint the dim confines of existence ! 
But ah ! h mprehend 

Their signals, or to what nd 

m land to land they come and go ! 
I more vast and dark 
The spirits oft 1 embark, 

All \ « unknown 

ur farewells from the shore, 
And t' irt. and come no more, 

( >r come as phantoms and ns ghost 

the darksome sea of death 
lift that is to be, 
A land of c loud and iv 

im mirage, with shapes of men 

nd our ken. 
nd hold our breath 
Till tin mt vanisheth, 

And doubtful whether it h.is been 

A vision Of" the \\orld i 

Or a bright image 

Against the bky in rapOfS thrown. 



Lucifer {singing from tJie sea). 
Thou didst not make it, thou 
canst not mend it, 
But thou hast the power to end it ! 
The sea is silent, the sea is discreet, 
Deep it lies at thy very feet ; 
There is no confessor like unto Death ! 
Thou canst not see him, but he is near; 
Thou needest not whisper above thy 

breath, 
And he will hear ; 
He will answer the questions, 
The vague surmises and suggestions. 
That fill thy soul with doubt and fear ! 
Prince Henry. The fisherman, who 
lies afloat, 
With shadowy sail, in yonder boat, 

inging softly to tl it 1 

Bat do I comprehend aright 
The meaning of the winds he sung 

tweetly in his native tongue? 
Ah yes ! the sea is still and deep. 
All things within its bosom sleep ! 
A single step, and all is <> 
A plunge, a bubble, and no mo 
And thou, dear Elsie, wilt be li 
1 rom martyrdom and agony. 
Elsie [coming 

upon t>. 1 he night is 

calm and clot 
I still as still can 1 
And the st h to listen 

the music of t! 

They gather, and rather, and gather, 

I ntil th ird the 

And listen, m breathless silence, 

To the solemn litany. 

It begins in rock 

that chant 

the pedals of the organ 
In monotonous ui 
And anon from shelvii i lies, 

I shadow sand 
In snow white robes uprising 
The ghostly choir nd. 

And sadly and un< 
Tin- mournful \ on. 

ow-white » hoirs still 
iste eleison ! 
Pi \ 1 ! thy 

tin' 
Celestial and | 

Th u, tiiat trembles and be- 

lieves, 



upon our 



Hears the archangel's trumpet in the 

breeze, 
And where the forest rolls, or ocean 

heaves, 
Cecilia's organ sounding in the seas, 
And tongues of prophets speaking in 

the leaves. 
But I hear discord only and despair. 
And whispers as of demons in the air ! 

At sea. 

II Padrone. The wind 
quarter lies, 
And on before the freshening gale, 
That fills the snow-white lateen sail, 
Swiftly our light felucca flies. 
- Around, the billows burst and foam ; 
They lift her o'er the sunken rock, 
They beat her sides with many a shock, 
And then upon their flowing dome 
They poise her, like a weathercock ! 
Between us and the western skies 
The hills of Corsica arise ; 
Eastward, in yonder long, blue line, 
The summits of the Apennine, 
And southward, and still far away, 
Salerno, on its sunny bay. 
You cannot see it, where it lies. 

Prince Henry. Ah, would that never- 
more mine eyes 
Might see its towers by night or day ! 

Elsie. Behind us, dark and awfully, 
There comes a cloud out of the sea, 
That bears the form of a hunted deer, 
With hide of brown, and hoofs of 

black, 
And antlers laid upon its back, . 
And fleeing fast and wild with fear, 
As if the hounds were on its track ! 
Prince Henry. Lo ! while we gaze, 
it breaks and falls 
In shapeless masses, like the walls 
Of a burnt city. Broad and red 
The fires of the descending sun 
Glare through the windows, and o'er- 

head, 
Athwart the vapors, dense and dun, 
Long shafts of silvery light arise, 
Like rafters that support the skies ! 
Elsie. See ! from its summit the lurid 
levin 
Flashes downward without warning, 
As Lucifer, son of the morning, 
Fell from the battlements of heaven ! 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



II 



189 



Padrone. I must entreat you, 

friends, below ! 
The angry storm begins to blow, 
For the weather changes with the moon. 
All this morning, until noon, 
We had baffling winds, and sudden flaws 
Struck the sea with their cat's-paws. 
Only a little hour ago 
I was whistling to Saint Antonio 
For a capful of wind to fill our sail, 
And instead of a breeze he has sent a 

gale. 
Last night I saw Saint Elmo's stars, 
With their glimmering lanterns, all at 

play 
On the tops of the masts and the tips 

of the spars, 
And I knew we should have foul weather 

to-day. 
Cheerly, my hearties ! yo heave ho ! 
Brail up the mainsail, and let her go 
As the winds will and Saint Antonio ! 

Do you see that Livornese felucca, 
That vessel to the windward yonder, 
Running with her gunwale under? 
I waslookingwhen the windo'ertookher. 
She had all set sail, and the only wonder 
Is, that at once the strength of the blast 
Did not carry away her mast. 
She is a galley of the Gran Duca, 
That, through the fear of the Algerines, 
Convoys those lazy brigantines, 
Laden with wine and oil from Lucca. 
Now all is ready, high and low ; 
Blow, blow, good Saint Antonio ! 

Ha ! that is the first dash of the rain, 
With a sprinkle of spray above the rails, 
Just enough to moisten our sails, 
And make them ready for the strain. 
See how she leaps, as the blasts o'er- 

take her, 
And speeds away with a bone in her 

mouth ! 
Now keep her head toward the south, 
And there is no danger of bank or 

breaker. 
With the breeze behind us, on we go; 
Not too much, good Saint Antonio 1 

VI. 

The School of Salerno. A travelli??g 
Scholastic affixing his Theses to the 
gale oj 'the College. 



190 



THE GOLDEX LEGEND. 



Scholastic. There, that is my gaunt- 
let, my banner, my shield, 

Hung up as a challenge to all the field ! 

( )ne hundred and twenty-live proposi- 
tions 

Which I will maintain with the sword 
of the tongue 

Against all disputants, old and young. 

Let us see if doctors or dialecticians 

Will dare to dispute my definitions, 

( )r attack any one of my learned the 

Here stand I; the end shall be as God 
pleases. 

I think 1 have proved, by profound 
researclu 

The error of all those doctrines so 
vie! 

Of the old A rjte Dionysius, 

That are making such terribie work in 
the church 

By Michael the Mammerer sent from 
the East, 

And done into Latin by that Scottish 
beast 

Johannes l)uns Scotus, who dares to 
maintain, 

In the face of the truth, the error in- 
fernal, 

That the universe is and must be eter- 
il ; 

At first laying down, as a fact funda- 
mental, 

That nothing with God can be acci- 
dental ; 

Then asserting that God before the 
cr< 
-Id not ha. ted, because it is 

plain 

That, had he 1, he would have 

created ; 

Which is begging the question that 

should he debated. 
And movetfa me less to anger than 

laughter. 
All nature, he holds, i-, a respiration 
the Spirit of God, Who, in breathing, 

hereafter 

Will inhale it into his bosom again, 
So that nothing but God alone will 

remain. 
And therein he contradicteth himself; 
For he opens the whole discussion by 

statin 
That God can only exist in creating. 



That question I think I have laid on 

the shelf ! 
{He goes out. Two Doctors conn 
disputing, and followed by /u/>ils.) 

Doctor Strafino I, with the Doctor 
raphic, maintain. 
That a word which is only conceived 

in the brain 
Is a type of eternal Generation ; 
The spoken word IS the Incarnation. 
Doctor Cherubino. What do 1 care 
for the Doctor Seraphic. 
With all his wordy chatter and traffic? 
Doctor Sera tl no. You make but a 
paltry show of resistance ; 
Universals have no real existence 1 
Doctor Cherubino. Your words are 
but idle and empty chatter ; 
Ideas are eternally joined to matter ! 
Doctor Sera /i no M,u the Lord have 
mercy on your position, 
Youwreu hed. wrangling cullerofhei 

Doctor Cherub/no May he send \ 
soul to eternal perdition, 
For your Treatise on the Irregular Vei 
( They rush out fight i 71 g. Two ScJiol- 

First Scholar. Monte Cassino, then, 
is your Collej 

What think von of ours here at Salem? 

Second Scholar. To tell the truth, I 
an ived bo latelv, 

1 hardly yet h.ur hid time to discern. 

So much, at least, I am hound to ac- 
knowledge •' 
The air seems healthy, the buildii 

stately, 
And on the whole I like it greatly. 
First 1 et ; 

tin- ( lalabrian hills 
id us down puns of mountain air; 
And in summer-time the sea breeze tills 

\\ ith its 1 ter and court 

and squan 
Then at every season of the j 

There are crowds of l uul travel- 

lers here . 

Pilgrims, and mendicant friar;, and 
traders 

From the Levant, with figs and wine, 

And bandi of wounded and sick CrU" 

sadi 

Coming back from Palestine. 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



191 



Second Scholar. And what are the 

studies you pursue? 
What is the course you here go through ? 
First Scholar. The first three years 

of the college course 
Are given to Logic alone, as the source 
Of all that is noble, and wise, and true. 
Second Scholar. That seems rather 

strange, I must confess, 
In a Medical School ; yet, neverthe- 
less, 
You doubtless have reasons for that. 

First Scholar, O yes ! 

For none but a clever dialectician 
Can hope to become a great physician ; 
That has been settled long ago. 
Logic makes an important part 
Of the mystery of the healing art ; 
For without it how could you hope to 

show 
That nobody knows so much as you 

know ? 
After this there are five years more 
Devoted wholly to medicine, 
With lectures on chirurgical lore, 
And dissections of the bodies of swine, 
As likest the human form divine. 

Second Scholar. What are the books 

now most in vogue ? 
First Scholar. Quite an extensive 

catalogue ; 
Mostly, however, books of our own ; 
As Gariopontus' Passionarius, 
And the writings of Matthew Platea- 

rius ; 
And a volume universally known 
As the Regimen of the School of Salern, 
For Robert of Normandy written in terse 
And very elegant Latin verse. 
Each of these writings has its turn. 
And when at length we have finished 

these, 
Then comes the struggle for degrees, 
With all the oldest and ablest critics ; 
The public thesis and disputation, 
Question, and answer, and explanation 
Of a passage out of Hippocrates, 
Or Aristotle's Analytics. 
There the triumphant Magister stands ! 
A book is solemnly placed in his hands, 
On which he swears to follow the rule 
And ancient forms of the good old 

School ; 
To report if any confectionarius 



Mingles his drugs with matters various, 
And to visit his patients twice a day, 
And once in the night, if they live in 

town, 
And if they are poor, to take no pay. 
Having faithfully promised these, 
His head is crowned with a laurel crown ; 
A kiss on his cheek, a ring on his hand, 
The Magister Artium et Physices 
Goes forth from the school like a lord of 

the land. 
And now, as we have the whole morning 

before us, 
Let us go in, if you make no objection, 
And listen awhile to a learned prelection 
On Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus. 

{They go in. Enter Lucifer as a 
Doctor.} 

Lucifer. This is the great School of 
Salern ! 
A land of wrangling and of quarrels, 
Of brains that seethe, and hearts that 

burn, 
Where every emulous scholar hears, 
In every breath that comes to his ears, 
The rustling of another's laurels ! 
The air of the place is called salubrious ; 
The neighborhood of Vesuvius lends it 
An odor volcanic, that rather mends it, 
And the buildings have an aspect lugu- 
brious, 
That inspires a feeling of awe and terror 
Into the heart of the beholder, 
And befits such an ancient homestead of 

error, 
Where the old falsehoods moulder and 

smoulder, 
And yearly by many hundred hands 
Are carried away, in the zeal of youth, 
And sown like tares in the field of truth, 
To blossom and ripen in other lands. 

What have we here, affixed to the gate ? 
The challenge of some scholastic wight, 
Who wishes to hold a public debate 
On sundry questions wrong or right ! 
Ah, now this is my great delight ! 
For I have often observed of late 
That such discussions end in a fight. 
Let us see what the learned wag main- 
tains 
With such a prodigal waste of brains. 

(Reads. ) 



192 



THE GOLDEN LEGEXD 



" Whether angels in moving from place 

to place 
Pass through the intermediate space, 
Whether God himself is the author of 

evil, 
Or whether that is the work of the Devil 
When, where, and wherefore Lucifer fell, 
And whether he now is chained in hell." 

I think I can answer that question well ! 
So long as the boastful human mind 
Consents in such mills as this to grind, 
1 sit very firmly upon my throne ! 
Of a truth it almost makes me laugh, 
To see men leaving the golden grain 
To gather in piles the pitiful chart 
That old Peter Lombard thrashed with 

his brain, 
To have it caught up and tossed again 
On the horns of the Dumb Ox of Co- 
- ne ! 

But my guests approach ! there is in the 

air 
A fragrance, like that of the Beautiful 

urdeu 
Of Paradise, in the days that were ! 
An odor of innocence, and of prayer, 
And of love, and faith that nevei 
Such as the fresh young heart exhales 
>re it begins to wither and harden ! 
I cannot breathe such in atmosphere ! 
My soul is filled with a nameless tear, 
:, after all my trouble and pain, 
•r all my n endeavor, 

youngest, fairest soul of the twain, 
most ethereal, most divine. 

Will escape from my hands for ever and 

ever. 
But the other is already mine ! 
Let him live to corrupt his race, 
Breathing among them, with every 

bieath, 

selfishness, and the b 
And pusillanimous fear of death. 
I know his nature, and I know 
That of all who in my ministry 
Wander the great earth to and fro, 
And on my errand* come and a 
The safest and subtlest are such as he. 

{Enter Prince Henry and Ei. 

ivith attendants.) 

Prince Henry. Can you direct us to 
Friar Angelo? 



Lucifer He stands before you 
Prince Henry. Then you know our 
purpose. 
I am Prince Henry of Hoheneck, and 

this 
The maiden that I spake of in my letters. 
Lucifer. It is a very grave and sol- 
emn business ! 
We must not be precipitate Docs she 
Without compulsion, of her own free wiUj 
Consent to this ? 

Prince Henry. Against all opposi- 
tion, 
Against all prayers, entreaties, protes- 
tations. 
She will not be persuaded. 

Lucifer. That is strange ! 

Have you thought well of it? 

Elsie. I come not here 

To argue, but to die. Your business 

is not 
To question, but to kill me. I am ready. 
I am impatient to be cone from here 
Ere any thoughts of earth disturbagain 
The spirit of tranquillity within me. 
Prince Henry. Would 1 bad not 

come here! Would 1 were dead, 

And thou weit in thy cottage in the 

fo] I 
And hadst not known me ! Why hi 

1 done this ? 
Let me go back and die. 
Elsie. It cannot be ; 

I if these cold, flat stones on which 
we tread 
Were couln 1 It atcd white, and yonder 

gatewa 

Flamed like a furnace with a sevenfold 

it. 
I must fulfil my purpose. 
Prince Henry. I forbid it ! 

e step farther. F« r I only meant 
l ait thus far thy ( ourage to the pi • 
It is enough. I, too, have strengtl 

die. 
For thou hast taught me ! 

Eh < > im Prince ! remember 

Your promises. Let me fulfil m\ 

rand. 
You do not look on life and death as I do. 
There are two angels, that attend unsi en 

1 us. and in great books ici ord 
Our good and evil deeds. He who 
writes down 






THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



*93 



The good ones, after every action closes 
His volume, and ascends with it to God. 
The other keeps his dreadful day-book 

open 
Till sunset, that we may repent; which 

doing, 
The record of the action fades away, 
And leaves a line of white across the 

Page. 
Now if my act be good, as I believe, 
It cannot be recalled. It is already 
Sealed up in heaven, as a good deed 

accomplished. 
The rest is yours. Why wait you? I 

am ready. 

{To her attendants.} 

Weep not, my friends! rather rejoice 

with me. 
I shall not feel the pain, but shall be 

gone, 
And you will have another friend in 

heaven. 
Then start not at the creaking of the 

door 
Through which I pass. I see what lies 

beyond it. 

{To Prince Henry.) 

And you, O Prince ! bear back my 

benison 
Unto my father's house, and all within 

it. 
This morning in the church I prayed 

for them, 
After confession, after absolution, 
When my whole soul was white, I 

prayed for them. 
God will take care of them, they need 

me not. 
And in your life let my remembrance 

linger, 
As something not to trouble and dis- 
turb it, 
But to complete it, adding life to life. 
And if at times beside the evening fire 
You see my face among the other faces, 
Let it not be regarded as a ghost 
That haunts your house, but as a guest 

that loves you, 
Nay, even as one of your own family, 
Without whose presence there were 

something wanting. 
I have no more to say. Let us go in. . 

13 



Prince Henry. Friar Angelo ! I 
charge you on your life, 
Believe not what she says, for she is mad, 
And comes here not to die, but to be 
healed. 
Elsie. Alas ! Prince Henry ! 

Lucifer, Come with me ; this way. 

(Elsie goes in with Lucifer, who 
thrusts Prince Henry back and 
closes the door.) 

Prince Henry. Gone ! and the light 
of all my life gone with her ! 

A sudden darkness falls upon the world ! 

O, what a vile and abject thing am I, 

That purchase length of days at such a 
cost ! 

Not by her death alone, but by the death 

Of all that 's good and true and noble 
in me ! 

All manhood, excellence, and self-re- 
spect, 

All love, and faith, and hope, and heart 
are dead 1 

All my divine nobility of nature 

By this one act is forfeited forever. 

I am a Prince in nothing but in name I 

( To the attendants. ) 

Why did you let this horrible deed be 
done? 

Why did you not lay hold on her, and 
keep her 

From self-destruction ? Angelo ! mur- 
derer ! 

{Struggles at the door, but cannot 
open it.) 

Elsie {within). Farewell, dear Prince ! 

farewell ! 
Prince Henry. Unbar the door ! 

Lucifer. It is too late ! 
Prince Henry. It shall not be too 

late ! 

( They burst the door open and rush in.) 

The Cottage in the Odenwald. Ursu- 
la spinning. Summer afternoon. 
A table spread. 

Ursula. I have marked it well, — it 
must be true, — 
Death never takes one alone, but two I 
Whenever he enters in at a door, 
Under roof of gold or roof of thatch, 



194 



THE GOLDEX LEGEXD. 



He always leaves it upon the latch. 
And comes again ere the year is o'er. 
Never one of a household only ! 
Perhaps it is a mercy of God, 
Lest the dead there under the sod, 
In the land of strangers, should be 

lor. 
Ah mc ! I think I am lonelier here ! 
It is hard to go, — but harder to stay ! 
Were it not for the children, I should 

pray 
That Death would take me within the 

year ! 
And Gottlieb ! — he is at work all day, 
In the sunny field, or the forest murk, 

[knowthal histhoughtsarefarau 
I know that his heart is not in his work ! 
And when he comes home to me at night 

is not cheery, but sits ami sighs, 
And I see the .ure.it tears in his ev 
And try to be cheerful lor his sake. 
Only the children's hearts are light 
Mine is weary, and ready to break. 

'help us! 1 hope we have done right; 
We thought we were acting lor the Lk 

{Looking through the ofsn door.) 

Who i> i; coming under the b 

A man, in the Prince's livery dressed ! 

I ! iboul him with doubtful I. 

tain of the plat 

II tops it the beehives ; — now he sees 
Th ite ; — he i \ past ! 

■ 
he is i oming in at last ! 
11 : oils my heart with strange alarm ! 

r.) 

Forester. Is this the tenant Gottlieb's 

farm? 
Ursula. This is his farm, and I his 
wife. 
Prav sit. What mav your business be ? 
tor. News from the Prince ! 
Ursu ( H death or life? 

Forostor. Yon put your quest!' 

Ursu r me, then ! How is 

the Prince ? 
Forotior. I left him only two hours 
■ ce 
Homeward returning down the river, 

ind well as If ( rod, the < liver, 
Ibid given him bad. nth again. 



Ursida (dvsAi irittg). Then Elsie, my 

poor child, is dead ! 
Forostor. That, my good woman, I 
have not said. 
Pon't cror-s the bridge till you come to it, 
I- a proverb old, and of excellent wit. 
sula. Keep me no longer in this 
pain ! 
Fo It is true your daughter is 

no more ; — 
That is, the peasant she was be! 

I r rsu I 1 am simple and lowly 

bred, 
I am poor, distracted, and forlorn. 
And it is not well that vou of the court 
should mock me thus, and make a i port 
( >f a joyless mother w hose child is dead, 
For you, tOO, I mother born ! 

Fc Your daughter lives, and 

the Prim e is w L 

Yon will learn erelong how it all 

r heart for a moment 1 ; 

But when they reached S 
The Prince's nobler self prevail* 

. ed her for a nobler fate. 
And he w.i d, in hi lir, 

By the touch ^l St. Matthe. red 

bon 
Though 1 think the long ride in tl 

air. 
That pilgrimage over ind stoi 

In the i 'u.' in '■ 

Ursu in ! who lovest th< 

an l lowly. 
If the loud cry of a mother 1 heart 
( a nd to where thou art, 

Into thy blessed hand • and h 
Receive my prayer of praise and thanks- 

gi 
Let the hands that bore our Saviour 
bear it 

Into the awful pre od ! 

thy feet with holii 
And if thou 1 h he n ill be n it. 

( )ur child who n is li\ i 

Forottor. I did not tell y<< 
id ; 
If you th< 

m i i 
At this very moment, while I ST* 

111' homeward down the 

Rhine. 
In a splendid I 
And decked with 1 white and red 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



*95 



As the colors on your daughter's cheek. 
They call her the Lady Alicia now ; 
For the Prince in Salerno made a vow 
That Elsie only would he wed. 

Ursula. Jesu Maria ! what a change ! 

All seems to me so weird and strange ! 

Forester. I saw her standing on the 

deck, 
Beneath an awning cool and shady ; 
Her cap of velvet could not hold 
The tresses of her hair of gold, 
That flowed and floated like the stream, 
And fell in masses down her neck. 
As fair and lovely did she seem 
As in a story or a dream 
Some beautiful and foreign lady. 
And the Prince looked so grand and 

proud, 
%A.nd waved his hand thus to the crowd 
That gazed and shouted from the shore, 
All down the river, long and loud. 
Ursula. We shall behold our child 

once more ; 
She is not dead ! She is not dead ! 
God, listening, must have overheard 
The prayers, that, without sound or 

word, 
Our hearts in secrecy have said ! 
O, bring me to her ; for mine eyes 
Are hungry to behold her face ; 
My very soul within me cries ; 
My very hands seem to caress her, 
To see her, gaze at her, and bless her ; 
Dear Elsie, child of God and grace ! 

{Goes out toward the garden?) 

Forester. There goes the good wo- 
man out of her head ; 

And Gottlieb's supper is waiting here ; 

A very capacious flagon of beer, 

And a very portentous loaf of bread. 

One would say his grief did not much 
oppress him. 

Here 's to the health of the Prince, God 
bless him ! 

{He drinks.) 

Ha ! it buzzes and stings like a hornet ! 

And what a scene there, through the 
door ! 

The forest behind and the garden be- 
fore, 

And midway an old man of threescore, 

With awife and children that caresshim. 



Let me try still further to cheer and 
adorn it 

With a merry, echoing blast of my cor- 
net ! 

{Goes out blowing- his horn.) 

The Castle of Vautsberg on the Rhine. 
Prince Henry and Elsie standing 
on the terrace at evening. The 
sound of bells heard from a distance. 

Prince Henry. We are alone. The 
wedding guests 
Ride down the hill, with plumes and 

cloaks, 
And the descending dark invests 
The Niederwald, and all the nests 
Among its hoar and haunted oaks. 

Elsie. What bells are those, that 
ring so slow, 
So mellow, musical, and low? 

Prince Henry. They are the bells 
of Geisenheim, 
That with their melancholy chime 
Ring out the curfew of the sun. 

Elsie. Listen, beloved. 

Prince Henry. They are done ! 

Dear Elsie ! many years ago 
Those same soft bells at eventide 
Rang in the ears of Charlemagne, 
As, seated by Fastrada's side 
At Ingelheim, in all his pride 
He heard their sound with secret pain. 

Elsie. Their voices only speak to me 
Of peace and deep tranquillity, 
And endless confidence in thee ? 

Prince Henry. Thou knowest the 
story of her ring, 
How, when the court went back to Aix, 
Fastrada died ; and how the king 
Sat watching by her night and day, 
Till into one of the blue lakes, 
Which water that delicious land, 
They cast the ring, drawn from her 

hand ; 
And the great monarch sat serene 
And sad beside the fated shore, 
Nor left the land forevermore. 

Elsie. That was true love. 

Prince Henry. For him the queen 
Ne'er did what thou hast -done for me. 

Elsie. Wilt thou as fond and faith- 
ful be ? 
Wilt thou so love me after death ? 



196 



THE GOLDEN LEGEND. 



Prince Henry. In life's delight, in 
death's dismay, 
In storm and sunshine, night and day, 
In health, in sickness, in decay, 
Here and hereafter, I am thine ! 
Thou hast Fastrada's ring. ^ Beneath 
The calm, blue waters of thine eyes 
Deep in thy steadfast soul it iies. 
And, undisturbed by this world's breath, 
"With magic light its jewels shine ! 
This golden ring, which thou hast worn 
i >n thy finger since the mcrn, 
Is but a symbol and a semblance, 
An outward fashion, a remembrance, 
Of what thou wearest within unseen, 
O my Fastrada. O my queen ! 
Behold ! the hill -tops all aglow 
With purple and with amethyst ; 
"While the whole valley deep below 
Is tilled, and seems to overflow, 
W ., 1 fast -rising tide of mist 
The evening air grows damp and chill ; 
Let us go in. 

Elsie. Ah, not so soon. 

See yonder fire ! It is the moon 
Slow rising o'er the eastern hill. 
It glimmers on the forest ti 
And through the dewy lohage drips 
In little rivulets of light, 
And makes the heart in love with night. 

Prim 1' Henry, < )it on this tern 

when the 1 

"Was closing, have I rood and gazed, 
And seen the landscape fade aw 
And the white vapoi id drown 

mlet and vineyard, tower and town, 
While far above the hill-tops blazed. 
But then another hand than thine 
Was gently held and clasped in mine ; 
Another head upon my I 
"Was laid, as thine is now, \t rest. 
Why dost thou lift those tender eves 
"With so much sorrow and surpri 
A minstrel's, not a maiden's hand, 
Was that which in my own was pressed. 
A manly form usurped thy place, 
A beautiful, but ! 
That now is in the Holy Land, 

in my memory from afar 

hining on us like a star. 
But linger not. For while I speak, 
A sheeted spectre white and tall, 
The cold mist climbs the castle wall, 
And Jays hi upon thy cheek 1 

(They go in.) 



EPILOGUE. 

THE TWO RECORDING ANC.ELS AS- 
CENDING. 

The Angel of Good Deeds {with 
closed book) God sent his mes- 
senger the rain, 
And said unto the mountain brook, 
" Rise up, and from thy caverns look 
And leap, with naked, snow-white leet, 
From the cool hills into the heat 
Of the broad, arid plain." 

God sent his messenger of faith, 
And whispered in the maiden's heart, 
"Rise up, and look from where thou 

art, 
And scatter with unselfish hands 
Thy freshness on the barren sands 
And solitudes of Heath." * 

( ) beauty of holiiu 
Of self-rorgetfulness, of lowliness 1 
( ) power of meekni 

Wliose verv gentleness and weakness 
Are like the yielding, but irresistible 

air ! 
on the pages 
Of the sealed volume that I bear. 
The dcud divine 
Is written in characters of gold, 
That never shall grow old, 
Bui through all ages 
Bum and shine, 
With -oft effulgence ! 
( ) ( iod ! it is thy indulgence 
That tills the world with the bliss 

< >t a good deed like this : 

Thi A ngi-l 0/ Evil 1 \ ith open 

book). Not yet, not yet 
Is the red mid wholly 

But evermoi 

While open still 1 bear 

The Look of Evil I 

To let the breathings of the upper air 

Wit its pages and 1 1 I 

The records from its face ! 

fainter and fainter as I e. 

In the broad hi 

The- glimmering land hines, 

And below me the b 

Is hidden by wreaths of \ 

Fainter and fainter the bl.uk lint 

in to quiver 

Along the whitening surface of the 

paper ; 
Shade after shade 






THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



197 



The terrible words grow faint and fade, 
And in their place 
Runs a white space ! 

Down goes the sun ! 

But the soul of one, 

Who by repentance 

Has escaped the dreadful sentence, 

Shines bright below me as I look. 

It is the end ! 

With closed Book 

To God do I ascend. 

Lo ! over the mountain steeps 
A dark, gigantic shadow sweeps 
Beneath my feet ; 
A blackness inwardly brightening 
Willi sullen heat, 



As a storm-cloud lurid with lightning. 

And a cry of lamentation, 

Repeated and again repeated, 

Deep and loud 

As the reverberation 

Of cloud answering unto cloud, 

Swells and rolls away in the distance, 

As if the sheeted 

Lightning retreated, 

Baffled and thwarted by the wind's 

resistance. 
It is Lucifer, 
The son of mystery ; 
And since God suffers him to be. 
He, too, is God's minister, 
And labors for some good 
By us not understood 1 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



1855- 



Should you ask me, whence these 

stories ? 
Whence these legends and traditions, 
With the odors of the forest, 
With the dew and damp of meadows, 
With the curling smoke of wigwams, 
With the rushing of great rivers, 
With their frequent repetitions, 
And their wild reverberations, 
As of thunder in the mountains? 

I should answer, I should tell you, 
■J From the forests and the prairies, 
From the great lakes of the Northland, 
From the land of the Ojibways, 
From the land of the Dacotahs, 
From the mountains, moors, and fen- 

. lands, 
Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Feeds among the reeds and rushes. 
I repeat them as I heard them 
From the lips of Nawadaha, 
The musician, the sweet singer." 

Should you ask where Nawadaha 
Found these songs, so wild and way- 
ward, 
Found these legends and traditions, 
I should answer, I should tell you, 
" In the bird's-nests of the forest, 
In the lodges of the beaver, 



In the hoof-prints of the bison, 
In the eyry of the eagle ! 

" All the wild-fowl sang them to him, 
In the moorlands and the fen-lands. 
In the melancholy marshes ; 
Chetowaik, the plover, sang them, 
Mahng, the loon, the wild-goose, 

Wawa, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the grouse, the Mushkodasa ! " 

If still further you should ask me, 
Saying, ''Who was Nawadaha? 
Tell us of this Nawadaha, " 
I should answer your inquiries 
Straightway in such words as follow. 

" In the Vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley, 
By the pleasant water-courses, 
Dwelt the singer Nawadaha. 
Round about the Indian village 
Spread the meadows and the corn- 
fields, 
And beyond them stood the forest, 
Stood the groves of singing pine-trees, 
Green in Summer, white in Winter, 
Ever sighing, ever singing. 

" And the pleasant water-courses, 
You could trace them through the val- 
ley, 



198 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA, 



he rushing in the Spring-time, 
By the aiders in the Summer, 

the white tog in the Autumn, 
] the back line in the Winter ; 

. beside them dwelt the singer, 
In the vale of Tawasentha, 
In the green and silent valley. 

'" There he sang of Hiawatha, 
Sang the Song of Hiawatha, 
Sang his wondrous birth and being, 

v he j rayed and how he 
How he lived, and toiled, and suffered, 
1 hat the tribes of men might p: 
That he might advance 1 

. e the haunts of Nature, 
iinshine of the meadow, 
e the 1 of the fon 

the wind among the brand 
And the rain -shower and the snow- 
:ni, 
I the rushing of great rivers 
Through their palisades of pine-trees, 

I the thunder in the mountains, t 
"Whose innumerable > 

;s in their 1 — 

ten to these wild traditions, 
i Hiawath 

Ye who Ime a Dal 'ids, 

e the 1 . 
Thai like voic< 

1 to us to pause and listen, 
ak in t< tin and childlike, 

in the ear distinguish 
Wheth "ken ; — 

his Indian I 1 . ■ nd, 
I iawatha ! 

! simple, 
Who have faith in ( *«od and Nature, 
Who believe, that in all a 

human heart is human, 
ins 

livings 
>d they comprehend not. 

That tl hands and helpfc 

ping blindly in the darki 

: hand in that dark- 

ne 

! are lifted up and strengthened ; — 
ten t<> this 

f iawatl 
. who sometimes, in your rambles 
Through tl of the country, 

Where the I 1 barbcrry-bu>hes 

Hang their tufts of crimson berries 



Over stone walls gray with mosses. 
Pause by some neglected graveyard, 

r a while to muse, and ponder 
On a half-effaced inscription. 
Written with little skill o! song-craft, 
Homely phrases, but each letter 
Full oi hope and yet of heart-break, 
Full of all the tender pathos 
( )f the Here and the Hereafter : — 
Stay and read this rude inscription, 
Read this Song of Hiawatha ! 



THt TEACE-PITE. 

On the Mountains of the Prairie, 
On the meat 1 true Quarry, 

Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
He the Master of 1 nding, 

On i he red crags of the quai 

. and called the nations, 

ed the tribes of nun togetlv 

in his footprints flowed a ri\ 
tped into the li.uht of mornii 
O'er the precipio wnward 

Gh in ed like Ishkoodah, t! 

hward, 
With h 

Traced a winding path* it, 

ing to it, '• Run in this waj | '' 
1 10m the red stone of the quarry 
With his hand he 1 roke a fragment, 

Moulded it into a ] i] e-head, 
Shaped and fashioned it with figures; 
1 n the margin of il 
I ol 1 long 1 in, 

With its dark green l< 1 on it ; 

Filled the 1 ipe with bark ol willow, 
With the hark of the red willow 
athed u] on tl, hoi ing 

Made 

Till in and kindled ; 

u| on il n tains, 

Gitche Manito. the mighty. 
Smoked the calumet, tin c-Pipe, 

d to the nations. 

And the im< 

Through the tranquil ail '"ing, 

n a denser, I h ei 1 a| 
Then a snow-white cloud unfolding, 
Like tl 

' mg. 
Till it touched the top of heaven. 






THE PEACE-PIPE. 



199 



Till it broke against the heaven, 
And rolled outward all around it. 
From the Vale of Tawasentha, 
From the Valley of Wyoming, 
From the groves of Tuscaloosa, 
From the far-off Rocky Mountains, 
From the Northern lakes and rivers 
All the tribes beheld the signal, 
Saw the distant smoke ascending, 
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe. 

And the Prophets of the nations 
Said : "Behold it, the Pukwana ! 
By this signal from afar off, 
Bending like a wand of willow, 
Waving like a hand that beckons, 
Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
Calls the tribes of men together, 
Calls the warriors to his council ! " 

Down the rivers, o'er the prairies, 
Came the warriors of the nations, 
Came the Delawares and Mohawks, 
Came the Choctaws and Camanches, 
Came the Shoshonies and Blackfeet, 
Came the Pawnees and Omahas, 
Came the Mandans and Dacotahs, 
Came the Hurons and Ojibvvays, 
All the warriors drawn together 
By the signal of the Peace-Pipe, 
To the Mountains of the Prairie, 
To the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry. 

And they stood there on the meadow, 
With their weapons and their war-gear, 
Painted like the leaves of Autumn, 
Painted like the sky of morning, 
Wildly glaring at each other ; 
In their faces stern defiance, 
In their hearts the fends of ages, 
The hereditary hatred, 
The ancestral thirst of vengeance. 

Gitche Manito, the mighty, 
The creator of the nations, 
Looked upon them with compassion, 
With paternal love and pity ; 
Looked upon their wrath and wrang- 
ling 
But as quarrels among children, 
But as feuds and fights of children ! 

Over them he stretched his right 
hand, 
To subdue their stubborn natures, 
To allay their thirst and fever, 
By the shadow of his right hand ; 
Spake to them with voice majestic 
As the sound of far-off waters, 



Falling into deep abysses, 

Warning, chiding, spake in this wise : — 

" O my children ! my poor children ! 
Listen to the words of wisdom, 
Listen to the words of warning, 
From the lips of the Great Spirit, 
From the Master of Life, whomade you ! 

" I have given you lands to hunt in, 
I have given you streams to fish in, 
I have given you bear and bison, 
I have given you roe and reindeer, 
I have given you brant and beaver, 
Filled the marshes full of wild-fowl, 
Filled the rivers full of fishes ; 
Why then are you not contented ? 
Why then will you hunt each other? 

" I am weary of your quarrels, 
Weary of your wars and bloodshed, 
Weary of your prayers for vengeance, 
Of your wranglings and dissensions ; 
All your strength is in your union, 
All your danger is in discord ; 
Therefore be at peace henceforward, 
And as brothers live together. 

" I will send a Prophet to you, 
A Deliverer of the nations, 
Who shall guide you and shall teach 

y° u ' 

Who shall toil and suffer with you. 
If you listen to his counsels, 
You will multiply and prosper ; 
If his warnings pass unheeded, 
You will fade away and perish ! 

" Bathe now in the stream before you, 
Wash the war-paint from your faces, 
Wash the blood-stains from your fin- 
gers, 
Bury your war-clubs and your weapons, 
Break the red stone from this quarry, 
Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes, 
Take the reeds that grow beside you, 
Deck them with your brightestfeathers, 
Smoke the calumet together, 
And as brothers live henceforward ! " 
Then upon the ground the warriors 
Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer- 
skin, 
Threwtheir weapons and their war-gear, 
Leaped into the rushing river, 
Washed the war-paint from their faces. 
Clear above them flowed the water, 
Clear and limpid from the footprints 
Of the Master of Life descending ; 
Dark below them flowed the water, 



TOO 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA. 



Soiled and stained with streaks of crim- 
son, 
As if blood were mingled with it ! 

From the river came the warriors, 
Clean and washed from all their war- 
paint ; 
On the banks their clubs they buried, 
Buried all their warlike weapons. 
Gitche Manito, the mighty. 
The Great Spirit, the creator. 
Smiled upon his helpless children ! 

And in silence all the warriors 
Broke the red stone of the quarry. 
Smoothed and formed it into Peace- 
Pi pes, 
Broke the lor, by the river, 

Decked them with their brightest feath- 
ers, 
And departed each one homeward. 
While the Master of Life, ascending, 
Through the opening of cloud curtains, 
Through the dcx rwaya of the heaven, 
Vanished from before their lac' 
In the :>nn>ke that rolled around him, 
The Pukwana of the Peace-Pip 



II. 



THE FOUR WINDS. 

44 Honor be to Mudjekeewis ! " 
Cried the warriors, cried the old men, 
When he came in triumph homeward 

Bell o\ Wampum, 
From the r of the North- Wind, 

From the 1 Waba 

n the land of the White Rabbit. 

len the f Wampum 

From the neck of Mishe-Mokw 

m the < I ear of the mountains, 

m the terror of the n. 

e lay asleep and CUD 

mmit of the mountains, 
Like a on it, 

Spotted brown and gray with mosses. 

ently h> upon him, 

Till the red nails of the monster 
Almost touched him, almost scared him, 
Till the hot br> rils 

Wanned the hands of Mudjekeewis, 
As he drew the Pelt npum 

Over the round ears, that heard not, 

r the small eyes, that saw not, 

r the long nose and nostrils, 
The black muffle of the nostrils, 



Out of which the heavy breathing 
Warmed the hands of Mudjekeewis. 
Then he swung aloft his war-club, 
Shouted loud and long his war- cry, 
Smote the mighty Mishe Mokwa 
In the middle of the forehead, 

ht between the eyes he smote him. 
With the heavy blow bewildered. 
Rose the Great Pear of the mountains ; 
But his knees beneath him trembled, 
And he whimpered like a woman, 

he reeled and red forward, 

As he sat upon his haunche 
And the mighty Mudjekeev 
Standing fearlessly before him, 
Taunted him in loud n, 

disdainfully in thii — 

i lark you, Pear .' you are a coward, 

nded ; 
e you would not cry and whimper 
Pike a miserable woman ! 

r ! you know our tribes are hostile, 
ng have been at war together ; 
>\ you find that we ai gest, 

\ go sneaking in the fore 

i go hiding in the mountain 
Had you conquered me in battle, 
Not a groan would I have utt 
But you, i it here and whimper, 

And disgrace your tribe by crying, 
Like a wretched Shaugoda; 
Like a cowardly old v 

Then again h< his war-club, 

Smote again tl 

In the middle of hi- id, 

Broke his skull, as ice 
When one in Winter. 

Thus w the M 

1 1 the ( ri ir of the m .is, 

1 1 the terror of the n 
•■ \ [onor be to Mudjeke< 
; a shout exclaimed the i 
" H to Mui 

forth he W ' Wind, 

And hei 
Shall he hold supn minion 

er all the wind n. 

Gall him no more Mudjekeev 
Call him K Wind ! " 

Thus was Mu 
Father of the V 

ept the West-Wind, 
Gave the others to his childn 
Unto Wabun gave the East-Wind, 






THE FOUR IVIXDS. 



201 



Gave The South to Shawcndasee. 
And the North-Wind, wild and cruel, 
To the fierce Kabibonokka. 

Young and beautiful was Wabun ; 
He it was who brought the morning, 
He it was whose silver arrows 
Chased the dark o'er hill and valley : 
He it was whose cheeks were painted 
h the brightest streaks of" crimson, 
And whose voice awoke the village. 
Called the deer, and called the hunter. 

Lonely in the sky was Wabun : 
Though the birds sar.g gayly to him. 
Though the wild-flowers of" the meadow 
Filled the air with odors for him. 
Though the forests and the rivers 
Sang and shouted at his coming, 
Still his heart was sad within him, 
For he was alone in heaven. 

But one morning, gating earthward, 
While the village still was sleepi 
And the tog lav on the river, 
Like a ghost, that goes at sunrise, 
He beheld a maiden walking 
All alone upon a meadow. 
Gathering water-flags and rushes 
By a river in the meadow. 

Every morning, gazing earthward, 
I the first thing he beheld there 
Was her blue eyes looking at him, 
Two blue lakes among the rushes. 
And he loved the lonely maiden, 
Who thus waited for his coming ; 
For they both were solitary, 
She on earth and he in heaven. 

And he wooed her with caresses. 
Wooed her with his smile of sunshine. 
With his flattering words hewpoedher, 
With his sighing and his si- 
Gentlest whispers in the branches, 
Softest music, sweetest odors. 
Till he drew her to his bosom. 
Folded in his robes ot crimson, 
Till into a star he changed her. 
Trembling still upon his bosom ; 

.'. forever in the heavens 
They are seen together walking, 
Wabun and the Wabun-Annung, 
Wabun and the Star of Morning. 

But the fierce Kabibonokka 
Had his dwelling among icebergs, 
In the everlasting" snow-drifts, 
In the kingdom of Wabasso, 
In the land of the White Rabbit 



He it was whose hand in Autumn 
Painted all the trees with scarlet. 
Stained the leaves with red ar.d yellow ; 
He it was who sent the snow-flakes, 

ing, hissing through the forest, 
Froze the ponds, the .akes. the rivers. 
Drove the loon and sea-gull southward, 
Drove the Cormorant and curlew 
To their nests of sedge r.nd sea-tang 
In the rea:ms oi Shawondasee. 

Once the fierce Kabi ka 

•Issued from his lodge of snow-drifts, 
From his home among the icebe 
Ar.d his hair, with snow besprinkled, 
Streamed behind him like a river, 
Like a black ar.d wintry river. 
As he howled and hurried southward, 
Over frozen lakes and moorlands. 

There among the reeds and rushes 
Found he Shingebis, the diver, 
Trailing strings offish behind him, 
O'er the frozen fens and moorlai 
Lingering still among the moorland 
Though his tribe had parted 

To the lard of Shav ;e. 

Cried the fierce Kabibonokka, 
" Who is this that dares to brave me ? 
Dares to stay in my d 
When the Wawa has departed. 
When the wild-goose has gone south- 
ward, 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Long ago departed southward? 
I will go into his wigwar 
I will put his smouldering fire out ! 

Ar.d at night Kabibonokka 
To the lodge came wild and wailir \ 
Heaped the snow in drirts about ::. 
Shouted down into the smoke-f 
Shook the lodge-poles in his fury. 

red the curtain of the doorway. 
Shingebis. the diver, feared not, 
Shingebis. .the diver, cared not ; 
Four great logs had he for fire-wood, 
On 

And for food : :s served him. 

By his blazing fire he sat there. 
Warm and merry. r.ghing, 

Singing, M O Kabibonokka. 
You are but my fellow-mortal ! w 

Then Kabibonokka entered. 
And though Shingebis, the diver, 
Telt his presence by the coldness, 
Felt his icy breath upon him, 



202 



THE SONG OF HI A IV A THA 



Still he did not cease bis singing, 
Still he did not leave his laughing, 
Only turned the log a little, 
Only made the fire burn brighter, 
Made the sparks liy up the smoke-flue. 

From Kabibonokka's forehead, 
From his snow-besprinkled tresses, 
Drops of sweat fell fast and heavy, 
Making dints upon the ashes, 
As along the eaves of lodges, 
As from drooping boughs of hemlock, 
Drips the melting snow in spring-time, . 
Making hollows in the snow-drifts. 

Till at last he rose defeated. 
Could not bear the heat and laughter, 
Could not bear the merry singing, 
But rushed headlong through the door- 
way, 
Stamped upon the crusted snow-drifts, 

aped upon the lakes and rivers, 
Made the snow upon them harder, 
Made the ice upon them thicker, 
Challenged Shingebis, the diver. 
To come forth and wrestle with him, 

• come forth and wrestle naked 
On the frozen fens and moorlands. 
>rth went Shingebis, the diver, 
Wrestled all night with the North- 
Wind, 
Wrestled naked on the moorlands 
With the hen bonokka. 

Till his panting breath "jew fainter, 
Till his frozen grasp ebler, 

Till he reeled and red backward, 

And retreated, baffled beaten, 

■ he kingdom of Waba 
To the land of the White Rabbit, 
ring -.till the gusty laughter, 
II ; ig Shins bis, the diver, 
bonokka, 
but my fellow-mortal !" 

Shawondasee, fat and lazy, 
II id his dwelling far to southward, 

In the drowsy, dreamy sunshine, 

In the never-ending Summer. 

II • it vis who sent the wood-birds, 

Sent the robin, the < )pechee, 
t the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
t the Shawshaw, sent the swallow, 
t the wild-goose, Wawa, northward, 

Sent the melons and tobacco, 

And the grapes in purple clusters. 
From his pipe the smoke ascending 

Filled the sky with haze and vapor, 



Filled the air with dreamy softness, 
Gave a twinkle to the water. 
Touched the rugged hills with smooth- 
ness, 
Brought the tender Indian Summer 
To the melancholy north-land, 
In the dreary Moon of Snow-shoes. 

Listless, careless Shawondasee ! 
In his life he had one shadow. 
In his heart one sorrow had he. 
( )nce, as he was gazing northward, 
Far away upon a prairie 
He beheld a maiden standing, 
Saw a tail and slender maiden 
All alone upon a prairie ; 
Brightest green were all her garments, 
And her hair was like the sunshine. 

Day by day he gazed upon her. 
Day by day he signed with passion, 
1 >ay by day his heart within hi in 
Grew more hot with love and longing 
For the maid with yellow tresses. 
But he was too fat and lazy 
To bestir himself and woo her; 
Yes, too indolent and easy 
To pursue her and persuade her. 
So he only gazed upon her, 
Only sat and sighed with passion 
For the maiden of the prairie. 

Till one morning, looking northward, 
teheld her yellow tie- 
Changed and covered o'er with white- 

m 
Covered as with whitish snow-flakes. 
' \h ! my brother from the North-land, 

m the kingdom of Wabas 
! rom the land of the White Rabbit! 
You have stolen the maiden from me, 
You have laid your hand upon her, 
You have wooed and won mv maiden, 
With your stories of the North-land ! 

Thus the wretched Shawondasee 
Bre ithed into the air his sorrows ; 
And the South-Wind o'er the prairie 
W indered warm with sieh> of passion, 
With the sighs of Shawondasee, 
Till the air seemed full of snow flakes, 
Fu 1 of thistle-down the ] 
And the maid with hair like sunshine 

idled from his sight forever ; 
Nevermore did Shawonda 

the maid with yellow tresses ! 

Poor, deluded Shawondasee ! 
'T was no woman that you gazed at, 



HIAWATHA'S CHILDHOOD. 



203 



'T was no maiden that you sighed for, 
'T was the prairie dandelion 
That through all the dreamy Summer 
You had gazed at with such longing, 
You had sighed for with such passion, 
And had puffed away forever, 
Blown into the air with sighing. 
Ah ! deluded Shawondasee ! 

Thus the Four Winds were divided ; 
Thus the sons of Mudjekeewis 
Had their stations in the heavens, 
At the corners of the heavens ; 
For himself the West- Wind only 
Kept the mighty Mudjekeewis. 

III. 

hiawatha's childhood. 

Downward through the evening twi- 
light, 
In the days that are forgotten, 
In the unremembered ages, 
From the full moon fell Nokomis, 
Fell the beautiful Nokomis, 
She a wife, but not a mother. 

She was sporting with her women, 
Swinging in a swing of grape-vines, 
When her rival, the rejected, 
Full of jealousy and hatred, 
Cut the leafy swing asunder, 
Cut in twain the twisted grape-vines, 
And Nokomis fell affrighted 
Downward through the evening twi- 
light, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
On the prairie full of blossoms. 
" See ! a star falls ! " said the people ; 
" From the sky a star is falling ! " 

There among the ferns and mosses, 
There among the prairie lilies, 
On the Muskoday, the meadow, 
In the moonlight and the starlight, 
Fair Nokomis bore a daughter. 
And she called her name Wenonah, 
As the first-born of her daughters. 
And the daughter of Nokomis 
Grew up like the prairie lilies, 
Grew a tall and slender maiden, 
With the beauty of the moonlight, 
With the beauty of the starlight. 

And Nokomis warned her often, 
Saying oft, and oft repeating, 
" O, beware of Mudjekeewis, 
Of the West- Wind, Mudjekeewis; 



Listen not to what he tells you ; 
Lie not down upon the meadow, 
Stoop not down among the lilies, 
Lest the . West- Wind come and harm 



you 



1 » 



But she heeded not the warning, 
Heeded not those words of wisdom, 
And the West-Wind came at evening, 
Walking lightly o'er the prairie, 
Whispering to the leaves and blossoms, 
Bending low the flowers and grasses, 
Found the beautiful Wenonah, 
Lying there among the lilies, 
Wooed her with his words of sweet- 
ness, 
Wooed her with his soft caresses, 
Till she bore a son in sorrow, 
Bore a son of love and sorrow. 

Thus was born my Hiawatha, 
Thus was born the child of wonder ; 
But the daughter of Nokomis, 
Hiawatha's gentle mother, 
In her anguish died deserted 
By the West-Wind, false and faithless, 
By the heartless Mudjekeewis. 

For her daughter, long and loudly 
Wailed and wept the sad Nokomis ; 
" O that I were dead ! " she murmured, 
"O that I were dead, as thou art ! 
No more work, and no more weeping, 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 

By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea-Water, 
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, 
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. 
Dark behind it rose the forest, 
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, 
Rose the firs with cones upon them ; 
Bright before it beat the water, 
Beat the clear and sunny water, 
Beat the shining Big-Sea- Water. 

There the wrinkled, old Nokomis 
Nursed the little Hiawatha, 
Rocked him in his linden cradle, 
Bedded soft in moss and rushes, 
Safely bound with reindeer sinews ; 
Stilled his fretful wail by saying, 
" Hush ! the Naked Bear will hear 

thee L" 
Lulled him into slumber, singing, 
" Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! 
Who is this, that lights the wigwam ? 
With his great eyes lights the wigwam? 
Ewa-yea ! my little owlet ! " 



204 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA. 



Many things Nokomis taught him 
Of the stars that shine in heaven ; 
Showed him [shkoodah, the comet, 
Ishkoodah, with fiery tresses ; 

wed the Death Dance of the spirits, 
Warriors with their plumes and war- 
clubs, 
Flaring tar away to northward 
In the frosty nights of Winter ; 
Showed thebroad, white road in heaven, 

thway of the ghosts, the shadow 

the heave 
a with the % iiad- 

At the door on summer evenings 
the little Hiawatha : 
trd the wh z of the pine trees, 

the laj | the water, 

ds ot music, words of wonder : 
14 Mini d the 1 es, 

M Mudwa tid the water. 

a the fire-fly, Wah-wah I 
I ittinc through the dusk of evening, 

h the twinkle of its * 
I iiting up the brakes and bus! 
ng the I children. 

g Nokomis taught him : 
" w ah wal . little fire-fly, 

Little, flitting, white fire inw 

le, dancing, white fir ire, 

1 r little candle, 

i Is 1 " 

v the i "in the water 
Ripplin 

i and si 00 it. 

Wh 

<1 : 
urrior, i rry, 

ndmoth her 

1 the sky at midnight : 

the moon h<- threw hi 
' I dy that you v t > ( - then 

Linbow in the ln.r 

it is that, Nokomis?" 

d : 
' i iven of 1 1 < ou see 

th< 
All the wild flowers of the forest, 

the lilies of th ie, 

Wh tade and perish, 

m in th u he iven al>< 
When he heard the owls at midnight, 



Hooting, laughing in the forest, 
" What is that ? he cried in terror ; 
•What is that ? " he said. " Nokomis?" 
And the good Nokomis answered : 
" That is but the owl and owlet, 
Talking in their native language, 
Talking, scolding at each othei 

Then the little Hiawatha 
Learned oi bird its ianguai 

Learned their names and ail their 

secrc; 
How they built their nests in Summer, 
Where they hid then in Wini 

Talked with them whene'er he met 
them, 
led them " Hiawatha's thicker 
< M all beasts he learned the language, 
rned their names and ail their 

How the beavers built their lodges, 

\\ lure the squirrels hid tin 

How the reindeer ran so swiftly, 

Why the rabbit v I imid, 

Talked with them whene'er he met 
them, 
led them " Hiawath.t 
Then lagoo, the great b< 

I le the marvellous st 

1 [e the traveller and the tali 

1 le the hi* Nokon 

Made a bon for H iawatha ; 

m ,i branch oi ash he made it, 
m an o mows, 

Tipped with flint, and winged wilh 

rd he mad .in. 

I hi aid to I [iawatl 

n, into the foi 
Wh d< ei herd or, 

Ki'l for us ,\ famous roebt 
Kill lor us a deer with an 

I oi th into tl away 

All aloi e wa ked 1 [iawatha 
Proudly, with hit bon m>i\ ai 

I the birds ind bin im, 

" Do not shoot us, 1 1 iawatha 

bin, the < »; 
Sang the bluebird, th 

; shoot us, 1 [iawa 

Up the oak tt an, 

ing the squ 
In and out among the bi 
Coughed and chattered from tne oak- 
tree, 



HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS. 



205 



Laughed, and said between his laugh- 
ing, 
" Do not shoot me, Hiawatha ! " 

And the rabbit from his pathway 
Leaped aside, and at a distance 
Sat erect upon his haunches, 
Half in fear and half in frolic, 
Saying to the little hunter, 
" Do not shoot me, Hiawatha ! " 

But he heeded not, nor heard them, 
For his thoughts were with the red deer ; 
On their tracks his eyes were fastened, 
Leading downward to the river, 
To the ford across the river, 
And as one in slumber walked he. 

Hidden in the alder-bushes, 
There he waited till the deer came, 
Till he saw two antlers lifted, 
Saw two eyes look from the thicket, 
Saw two nostrils point to windward, 
And a deer came down the pathway, 
Flecked with leafy light and shadow. 
And his heart within him fluttered, 
Trembled like the leaves above him, 
Like the birch-leaf palpitated, 
As the deer came down the pathway. 

Then, upon one knee uprising, 
Hiawatha aimed an arrow ; 
Scarce a twig moved with his motion, 
Scarce a leaf was stirred or rustled, 
But the wary roebuck started, 
Stamped with all his hoofs together, 
Listened with one foot uplifted, 
Leaped as if to meet the arrow ; 
Ah ! the singing, fatal arrow, 
Like a wasp it buzzed and slung him ! 

Dead he lay there in the forest, 
By the ford across the river ; 
Beat his timid heart no longer, 
But the heart of Hiawatha 
Throbbed and shouted and exulted, 
As he bore the red deer homeward, 
And lagoo and Nokomis 
Hailed his coming with applauses. 

From the red deer's hide Nokomis 
Made a cloak for Hiawatha, 
From the red deer's flesh Nokomis 
Made a banquet in his honor. 
All the village came and feasted, 
All the guests praised Hiawatha, 
Called him Strong- Heart, Soan-ge- 

taha ! 
Called him Loon-Heart, Mahn-go- 
taysee ! 



IV. 

HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS. 

Out of childhood into manhood 
Now had grown my Hiawatha, 
Skilled in ail the craft of hunters, 
Learned in all the lore of old men, 
In all youthful sports and pastimes, 
In all manly arts and labors. 

Swift of foot was Hiawatha; 
He could shoot an arrow from him, 
And run forward with such fleetness, 
That the arrow fell behind him ! 
Strong of arm was Hiawatha ; 
He could shoot ten arrows upward, 
Shoot them with such strength and 

swiftness, 
That the tenth had left the bow-string 
Ere the first to earth had fallen ! 

He had mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Magic mittens made of deer-skin ; 
When upon his hands he wore them, 
He could smite the rocks asunder, 
He could grind them into powder. 
He had moccasins enchanted, 
Magic moccasins of deer-skin ; 
When he bound them round his ankles 
When upon his feet he tied them, 
At each stride a mile he measured ! 

Much he questioned old Nokomis 
Of his father Mudjekeewis ; 
Learned from her the fatal secret 
Of the beauty of his mother, 
Of the falsehood of his father ; 
And his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

Then he said to old Nokomis, 
"I will go to Mudjekeewis, 
See how fares it with my father, 
At the doorways of the West- Wind, 
At the portals of the Sunset ! " 

From his lodge went Hiawatha, 
Dressed for travel, armed for hunting ; 
Dressed in deer-skin shirt and leggings, 
Richly wrought withquillsand wampum; 
On his head his eagle-feathers, 
Round his waist his belt of wampum, 
In his hand his bow of ash- wood, 
Strung with sinews of the reindeer ; 
In his quiver oaken arrows, 
Tipped with jasper, winged with feath- 
ers ; 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
With his moccasins enchanted. 



206 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA. 



Warning said the old Nokomis, 
11 Go not forth, O Hiawatha ! 
To the kingdom of the West-Wind, 
To the realms of Mudjekeewis, 
Lest he harm you with his magic, 
Lest he kill you with his cunning ! " 

But the fearless Hiawatha 
Heeded not her woman's warning ; 
Forth he strode into the forest, 
At each stride a mile he measured ; 
Lurid seemed the sky above him. 
Lurid seemed the earth beneath him, 
Hot and close the air around him, 
Filled with smoke and fiery vapors, 
As of burning woods and prairies, 
For his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

So he journeyed westward, westward, 
Left the fleetest deer behind him, 
Left the antelope and bison ; 
Crossed the rushing I maba, 

sed the mighty Mississippi, 
Passed the Mountains of the Prairie, 
Passed the land of Crows and Foxes, 
-ed the dwellings of the Blackfeet, 
Came unto the Rocky Mountai 

he kingdom of the West- Wind, 
Where upon the gusty summits 

• the ancient Mudjekeewis, 
Ruler of the winds of heaven. 

Filled with awe was Hiawatha 
At the aspect of his father. 
On the air about him wildly 
Tossed and streamed his cloudy tresses, 
Gleamed iike drifting snow his tresses, 
Glared like Ishkoodah, the comet, 
Like the star with fiery ti 

Filled with joy was Mudjekeewis 
When he looked ftn Hiawatha. 
Saw his youth rise up before him 
In the face of Hiawatha, 
Saw the beauty of Wenonah 
From the grave rise up before him. 

" Wel< i ime ! " said he. " Hiawatha, 
To the kingdom of the West-Wind! 
Lone; have I been waiting for you ! 
\ nth is lovely, age is lonely, 
Youth is fiery, acre is frosty ; 
You bring back the days departed, 
You brine; back my youth of passion, 
And the beautiful Wenonah ! " 

Many days thev talked together, 
Questioned, listened, waited, answered ; 
Much the mighty Mudjei.ee 



Boasted of his ancient prowess, 
Of his perilous adventures, 
His indomitable courage, 
His invulnerable body. 

Patiently sat Hiawatha, 
Listening to his father's boasting; 
With a smile he sat and listened, 
Uttered neither threat nor menace, 
Neither word nor look betrayed him, 
But his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart v, 

Then he said. "O Mudjekeewis, 
Is there nothing that can harm you? 
Nothing that you are afraid of?" 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis, 
Grand and gracious in his boasting, 
Answered, saying, " There is nothing, 
Nothing but the black rock yonder. 
Nothing but the fatal Wawbeek ! " 

And he looked at Hiawatha 
With a wise look and benignant, 
With a countenance paternal. 
Looked with pride upon the beauty 
( )f his tall and graceful figure, 
Saying, "O my Hiawatha ! 
Is there anything can harm you? 
Anything you are afraid of?" 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Paused awhile, as if uncertain, 
Held his peace, a living, 

I then answered, "There is nothing, 
Nothing but the bulrush yonder, 
thing but'the great Apukwa ! " 

And as Mudjekeewis, risiii. 
Stretched his hand to pluck the bul- 
rush, 
Hiawatha cried in terror, 
Cried in well -dissembled terror, 
" Kago I kago I do not touch it ! " 
"Ah. kawei lid Mudjekeewis, 

" No indeed, I will not touch it ! " 

Then they talked of other matters ; 
First of Hiawatha's brothi 
First ofWabun, ofth Wind, 

Of the South -Wind. Shawondasee, 
Of the North, Kabibonokka ; 
Then of Hiawatha's mother, 
Of the beautiful Wenonah, 
Of her birth upon the meadow, 
Of her death, as old Nokomis 
Had remembered and related. 

And he cried, '*< ) Murlk-keewis, 
It was you who killed Wen mail, 
Took her young life and her beauty, 



HIAWATHA AND MUDJEKEEWIS. 



207 



Broke the Lily of the Prairie, 
Trampled it beneath your footsteps ; 
You confess it ! you confess it I " 
And the mighty Mudjekeewis 
Tossed upon the wind his tresses, 
Bowed his hoary head in anguish, 
With a silent nod assented. 

Then up started Hiawatha, 
And with threatening look and gesture 
Laid his hand upon the black rock, 
On the fatal Wawbeek laid it, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Rent the jutting crag asunder, 
Smote and crushed it into fragments, 
Hurled them madly at his father, 
The remorseful Mudjekeewis, 
For his heart was hot within him, 
Like a living coal his heart was. 

But the ruler of the West- Wind 
Blew the fragments backward from him 
With the breathing of his nostrils, 
With the tempest of his anger, 
Blew them back at his assailant ; 
Seized the bulrush, the Apukwa, 
Dragged it with its roots and fibres 
JFrom the margin of the meadow, 
From its ooze, the giant bulrush ; 
Long and loud laughed Hiawatha ! 

Then began the deadly conflict, 
Hand to hand among the mountains ; 
From his eyry screamed the eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle 
Sat upon the crags around them, 
Wheeling flapped his wings above them. 

Like a tall tree in the tempest 
Bent and lashed the giant bulrush ; 
And in masses huge and heavy 
Crashing fell the fatal Wawbeek ; 
Till the earth shook with the tumult 
And confusion of the battle, 
And the air was full of shoutings, 
And the thunder of the mountains, 
Starting, answered, " Baim-wawa ! " 

Back retreated Mudjekeewis, 
Rushing westward o'er the mountains, 
Stumbling westward down the moun- 
tains, 
Three whole days retreated fighting, 
Still pursued by Hiawatha 
To the doorways of the West- Wind, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the earth's remotest border, 
Where into the empty spaces 
Sinks the sun, as a flamingo 



Drops into her nest at nightfall, 
In the melancholy marshes. 

"Hold!" at length cried Mudje- 
keewis, 
" Hold, my son, my Hiawatha ! 
'T is impossible to kill me, 
For you cannot kill the immortal. 
I have put you to this trial, 
But to know and prove your courage ; 
Now receive the prize of valor ! 

" Go back to your home and people, 
Live among them, toil among them, 
Cleanse the earth from all that harms it, 
Clear the fishing-grounds and rivers, 
Slay all monsters and magicians, 
All the Wendigoes, the giants, 
All the serpents, the Kenabeeks, 
As I slew the Mishe-Mokwa, 
Slew the.Great Bear of the mountains. 

" And at last when Death draws near 
you, 
When the awful eyes of Pauguk 
Glare upon you in the darkness, 
1 will share my kingdom with you, 
Ruler shall you be thenceforward 
Of the Northwest- Wind, Keewaydin, 
Of the home-wind, the Keewaydin." 

Thus was fought that famous battle 
In the dreadful days of Shah-shah, 
In the days long since departed, 
In the kingdom of the West-Wind. 
Still the hunter sees its traces 
Scattered far o'er hill and valley ; 
Sees the giant bulrush growing 
By the ponds and water-courses, 
Sees the masses of the Wawbeek 
Lying still in every valley. 

Homeward now went Hiawatha ; 
Pleasant was the landscape round him, 
Pleasant was the air above him, 
For the bitterness of anger 
Had departed wholly from him, 
From his brain the thought of ven- 
geance, 
From his heart the burning fever. 

Only once his pace he slackened, 
Only once he paused or halted, 
Paused to purchase heads of arrows 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs, 
Where the Falls of Minnehaha 
Flash and gleam among the oak-trees, 
Laugh and leap into the valley. 

There the ancient Arrow-maker 



2oS 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Made his arrow-heads of sandstone, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of fhnt and jasper, 
Smoothed and sharpened at the edges, 
Hard and polished, keen and costly. 

With him dwelt his dark-eyed daugh- 
ter, 
Wayward as the Minnehaha, 
With her moods of shade and sunshine, 
Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate, 
Feet as rapid as the river, 
Tresses flowing like the water, 
And as musical a laughier ; 
And he named her from the river, 
From the waterfall he named her, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water. 

Was it then for heads of arrows, 
Arrow-heads of chalcedony, 
Arrow-heads of flint and jasper, 
That my Hiawatha halted 
In the land of the Dacotahs? 

Was it not to see the maiden, 
See the face of Laughing Water 
Peeping from behind the curtain, 
Hear the rustling of her garments 
From behind the waving curtain, 

one sees the Minnehaha 
Gleaming, glancing thro 1 the branches, 
As one hears the Laughing Water 
Prom behind its screen of branches? 

Who shall say what thoughts and 
visions 
Fill the fiery brains of young men? 
"Who shall say what dreams of beauty 
Filled the heart of Hiawatha? 
All he told to old Nokomis, 
When he reached the lodge at sunset, 
Was the meeting with his father, 
Was his fight with Mudjekeewis; 
Not a word he said of arrows, 
Not a word of Laughing Water I 

V. 

hiawatma's PASTING. 

You shall hear how Hiawatha 
Prayed and tasted in the forest, 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumphs in the battle, 
And renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations. 
First he built a lodge for fasting, 



Built a wigwam in the forest, 

By the shining Big-Sea- W'ater, 

In the blithe and pleasant Spring-time. 

In the Moon of Leaves he built it, 

And, with dreams and visions many, 

Seven whole days and nights he fasted. 

On the first day of his fasting 
Through the leafy woods he wandered : 
Saw the deer start from the thicket, 
Saw the rabbit in his burrow, 
Heard the pheasant, Bena, drumming, 
Heard the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Rattling in his hoard of acorns, 
Saw the pigeon, the (Jmeine, 
Building nests among the pine-trees, 
And in flocks the wild goose, Wawa, 
Flying to the fen -lands northward, 
Whirring, wailing far above him. 
" Master of Life ! " he cried, despond- 
ing, 
" Must our lives depend on these 
things? " 
On the next day of his fasting 
By the river's brink he wandered, 
Through the Muskoday, the meadow, 
Saw the wild rice, Mahnoinonee, 
Saw the blueberry, Mecnahga, 
And the strawberry, Odahmin, 
And the gooseberry, Shahbomin, 
And the grape-vine, the Bemahgut, 
Trailing o'er the alder branches, 
Filling all the air with fragrance ! 
" Master of Life j " he cried, despond- 
ing, 
"Must our lives depend on these 
things?" 
On the third day of his fasting 
By the lake he sat and pondered, 

the still, transparent water ; 
Saw the sturgeon, Nahma, leaping, 
ittering drops like beads of wampum, 

Saw the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 

Like a sunbeam in the water. 

Saw the pike, the Ma kkenozha, 

And the herring, Okahahwis, 

And the Shawgashee, the craw-fish ! 

" Master of Life ! " he cried, despond- 
ing, 

"Must our lives depend on these 
things?" 
On the fourth day of his fasting 

In his lodge he lay exhausted ; 

From his couch of leaves and branches 

Gazing with half-open eyelids, 



HIAWATHA'S FASTING. 



209 



Full of shadowy dreams and visions, 
On the dizzy, swimming landscape, 
On the gleaming of the water, 
On the splendor of the sunset. 

And he saw a youth approaching, 
Dressed in garments green and yellow 
Coming through the purple twilight, 
Through the splendor of the sunset ; 
Plumes of green bent o'er his forehead, 
And his hair was soft- and golden. 

Standing at the open doorway, * 
Long he looked at Hiawatha, 
Looked with pity and compassion 
On his wasted form and features, 
And, in accents like the sighing 
Of the South-Wind in the tree-tops, 
Said lie, " O my Hiawatha ! 
All your prayers are heard in heaven, 
For you pray not like the others ; 
Not for greater skill in hunting, 
Not for greater craft in fishing, 
Not for triumph in the battle, 
Nor renown among the warriors, 
But for profit of the people, 
For advantage of the nations. 

" From the Master of Life descend- 
ing, 
I, the friend of man, Mondamin, 
Come to warn you and instruct you, 
How by struggle and by labor 
You shall gain what you have prayed for. 
Rise up from your bed of branches, 
Rise, O youth, and wrestle with me ! " 

Faint with famine, Hiawatha 
Started from his bed of branches, 
From the twilight of his wigwam 
Forth into the flush of sunset 
Came, and wrestled with Mondamin ; 
At his touch he felt new courage 
Throbbing in his brain and bosom, 
Felt new life and hope and vigor 
Run through every nerve and fibre. 

So they wrestled there together »y 
In the glory of the sunset, 
And the more they strove and struggled, 
Stronger still ,jrew Hiawatha ; 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
And the herdn, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Gave a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a scream of pain and famine. 

" 'T is enough !" then said Monda- 
min, 
Smiling upon Hiawatha, 

14 



" But to-morrow, when the sun sets, 
I will come again to try you." 
And he vanished, and was seen not ; 
Whether sinking as the rain sinks, 
Whether rising as the mists rise, 
Hiawatha saw not, knew not, 
Only saw that he had vanished, 
Leaving him alone and fainting, 
With the misty lake below him, 
And the reeling stars above him. 

On the morrow and the next day, 
When the sun through heaven descend- 

Like a red and burning cinder 
From the hearth of the Great Spirit, 
Fell into the western waters, 
Came Mondamin for the trial, 
For the strife with Hiawatha; 
Came as silent as the dew comes, 
From the empty air appearing, 
Into empty air returning, 
Taking shape when earth it touches, 
But invisible to all men 
In its coming and its going. 

Thrice they wrestled there together 
In the glory of the sunset, 
Till the darkness fell around them, 
Till the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her nest among the pine-trees, 
Uttered her loud cry of famine, 
And Mondamin paused to listen. 

Tall and beautiful he stood there, 
In his garments green and yellow; 
To and fro his plumes above him 
Waved and nodded with his breathing, 
And the sweat of the encounter 
Stood like drops of dew upon him. 

And he cried, "O Hiawatha ! 
Bravely have you wrestled with me, 
Thrice have wrestled stoutly with me, 
And the Master of Life, who sees us, 
He will give to you the triumph ! " 

Then he smiled, and said : " To-mor- 
row 
Is the last day of your conflict, 
Is the last day of your fasting. 
You will conquer and o'ercome me; 
Make a bed for me to lie in, 
Where the rain may fall upon me, 
Where the sun may come and warm me ; 
Strip these garments, green and yellow, 
Strip this nodding plumage from me, 
Lay me in the earth, and make it 
Soft and loose and light above me. 



2IO 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



" Let no hand disturb my slumber, 
Let no weed nor worm molest me, 
Let not Kahgahgee, the raven, 
Come to haunt me and molest me, 
Only come yourself to watch me, 
Till I wake, and start, and quicken, 
Till I leap into the sunshine." 

And thus saying, he departed ; 
Peacefully slept Hiawatha, 
But he heard the Wawonaissa, 
Heard the whippoorwiil complaining, 
Perched upon his lonely wigwam ; 
Heard the rushing Sebowisha, 
Heard the rivulet rippling near him, 
Talking to the darksome forest ; 
Heard the sighing of the branches, 
As they lifted and subsided 
At the passing of the night-wind, 

ard them, as one hears in slumber 
Far-off murmurs, dreamy whispers: 
icefully slept Hiawatha. 

On the morrow came Nokomis, 
On the seventh day of his lasting, 

me with food for Hiawatha, 
Came imploring and bewailing, 
Lest his hunger should o'ercome him, 
1 • tiould be fatal. 

But he tasted not, and touched not, 
Only said to her, " Nokomis, 
I until the sun is setting, 
Till the darkne and us, 

Till the heron, tin.- Shuh-shuh-gah, 
ing from the desolate marshes, 
Tells i:s thai the ilw is ended " 

Homeward weej ing went Nokomis, 
Sorrowing tor her Hiawatha, 
Fearing kst his Strength should fail him, 
Lest his fa-ting should be fatal. 

meanwhile sat weary waiting 
For the coming of Mondamin, 
Till the shadows, pointing eastward, 
Lengthened over field and forest, 
Till the sun dro; ped from the heaven, 
Floating on the waters westward, 
As a red leaf in the Autumn 
Falls and floats upon the water, 
Falls and sinks into its bosom. 

And behold ! the young Mondamin, 
With his soft and shining tressi 
With his garments green and yellow, 
With his long and plumage, 

Stood and beckoned at the doorway. 
And as one in slumber walking, 
Pale and haggard, but undaunted, 



From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Came and wrestled with Mondamin. 

Round about him spun the landscape, 
Sky and forest reeled together, 
And his strong heart leaped within him, 
As the sturgeon leaps and struggles 
In a net to break iis meshes. 
Like a ring of fare aroffnd him 
Blazed and flared the red horizon, 
And a hundred suns seemed looking 
At the combat of the wrestlers. 

Suddenly upon the g.eensward 
All alone stood Hiawatha, 
Panting with his wild exertion, 
Palpitating with the struggle : 
And before him, breathless, lifeless, 
Lay the youth, with hair dishevelled, 
Plumage torn, and garments tattered, 
Dead he lay there in the sunset. 

And victorious Hiawatha 
Made the grave as he commanded, 
Stripped the garments from Mondamin, 
Stripped his tattered plumage from him, 
Laid him in the earth, and made it 
Soft and loose and light above him ; - 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh gah, 
From the melancholy moorlands, 

ve a cry of lamentation, 
Gave a cry of pain and anguish I 

Homeward then went Hiawatha 
To the lodge of old Nokom 
And the seven days of his tasting 
Were accomplished and completed. 

I the place was not forgotten 
Where lie wrestled with Mondamin; 
Nor forgotten nor neglected 
Was the grave where laj Mondamin, 
Sleeping in the rain and sunshine, 
Where his scattered plumes and gar- 
ments 
Faded in the rain and sunshine. 

I 'ay by day did Hiawatha 
to wait and watch beside it : 
Kept the dark moual soft above it, 

]it it clean from w i i ts, 

Drove away, with sc< utings, 

Kahgahgee, the king of r) 

Till at length a small her 

From the earth shot slowly upward, 
Then another and another, 
And before the Sunn led 

Stood the maize in all it ty, 

With its shinii S about it, 

And its long, soft, yellow tresses ; 






HIAWATHA'S FRIENDS. 



211 



And in rapture Hiawatha 

Cried aloud, " It is Mondamin ! 

Yes, the friend of man, Mondamin ! " 

Then he called to old Nokomis 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
Showed them where the maize was 

growing, , 
Told them of his wondrous vision, 
Of his wrestling and his triumph, 
Of this new gift to the nations, 
Which should be their food forever. 
And still later, when the Autumn 
Changed the long, green leaves to yel- 
low, 
And the soft and juicy kernels 
Grew like wampum hard and yellow, 
Then the ripened ears he gathered, 
Stripped the withered husks from off 

them, 
As he once had stripped the wrestler, 
Gave the first Feast of Mondamin, 
And made known unto the people 
This new gift of the Great Spirit. 

VI. 

Hiawatha's friends. 

Two good friends had Hiawatha, 

Singled out from all the others, 

Bound to him in closest union, 

And to whom he gave the right hand 

Of his heart, in joy and sorrow ; 

Chibiabos, the musician, 

And the very strong man, Kwasind. 

Straight between them ran the path- 
way, 
Never grew the grass upon it ; 
Singing birds, that utter falsehoods, 
Story-tellers, mischief-makers, 
Found no eager ear to listen, 
Could not breed ill-will between them, 
For they kept each other's counsel, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much contriving 
How the tribes of men might prosper. 

Most beloved by Hiawatha 
Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 
He the sweetest of all singers. 
Beautiful and childlike was he, 
Brave as man is, soft as woman, 
Pliant as a wand of willow, 
Stately as a deer with antlers. 

Wfteii he sang, the village listened ; 



All the warriors gathered round him, 
All the women came to hear him ; 
Now he stirred their souls to passion, 
Now he melted them to pity. 

From the hollow reeds he fashioned 
Flutes so musical and mellow, 
That the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Ceased to murmur in the woodland, 
That the wood-birds ceased from sing- 
ing, 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Ceased his chatter in the oak-tree, 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Sat upright to look and listen. 

Yes, the brook, the Sebowisha, 
Pausing, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach my waves to flow in music, 
Softly as your words in singing ! " 

Yes, the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
Envious, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as wild and wayward, 
Teach me songs as full of frenzy ! " 

Yes, the robin, the Opechee, 
Joyous, said, "O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as sweet and tender, 
Teach me songs as full of gladness ! " 

And the whippoorwill, Wawonaissa, 
Sobbing, said, " O Chibiabos, 
Teach me tones as melancholy, 
Teach me songs as full of sadness ! " 

All the many sounds of nature 
Borrowed sweetness from his singing ; 
All the hearts of men were softened 
By the pathos of his music ; 
For he sang of peace and freedom, 
Sang of beauty, love, and longing; 
Sang of death, and life undying 
In the Islands of the Blessed, 
In the kingdom of Ponemah, 
In the land of the Hereafter. 

Very dear to Hiawatha 
Was the gentle Chibiabos, 
He the best of all musicians, 
He the sweetest of all singers ; 
For his gentleness he loved him, 
And the magic of his singing. 

Dear, too, unto Hiawatha 
Was the very strong man, Kwasind, 
He the strongest of all mortals, 
He the mightiest among many ; 
For his very strength he loved him, 
For his strength allied to goodness. 

Idle in his youth was Kwasind, 
Very listless, dull, and dreamy, 



212 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 






Never played with other children, 
Never fished and never hunted, 
Not like other children was he ; 
But they saw that much he fasted, 
Much his Manito entreated, 
Much besought his Guardian Spirit. 

"Lazy Kwasind ! " said his mother, 
" In my work you never help me ! 
In the Summer you are roaming 
Idly in the fields and forests ; 
In the Winter you are cowering 
O'er the firebrands in the wigwam ! 
In the coldest days of Winter 

I must break the ice for fishing; 
With my nets you never help me ! 
At the door my nets are hangin 
Dripping, freezing with the water; 
Go and wring them, Venadizze ! 
Go and dry them in the sunshine ! " 

Slowly, from the ashes, Kwasind 
Rose, but made no angry answer ; 
From the lodge went forth in silence, 
Took the nets, that hung together, 
Dripping, freezing at the doorway, 
Like a wisp of straw he wrung them, 
Like a wisp of straw he broke them, 
Could not wring them without breaking, 
Such the strength was in his lingers. 

" Lazy Kwasind ! " said his father, 

II In the hunt you never help me ; 
Every bow you touch is broken, 
Snapped asunder every arrow ; 

come with me to the !<>i 
You shall bring the huntinghomcward." 

I><'wn a narrow pass they wand* 
Where a brooklet led them onward, 
Where the trail of deer and bison 
Marked the soft mud on the margin, 
Till they found all further passn 
Shut against them, barred securely 
By the trunks of trees uprooted, 
Lying lengthwise. King crosswise, 
And forbidding further passage. 

M We must go back," said the old 
man, 
"O'er these logs we cannot clamber ; 
Not a woodchuck could get through 

them, 
Not a squirrel clamber o'er them ! " 
And straightway his pipe he lighted, 
And sat down to smoke and ponder. 
But before his pipe was finished, 
Lo ! the path was cleared before him ; 
All the trunks had Kwasind lifted, 



To the right hand, to the left hand, 
Shot the pine-trees swift as arrows, 
Hurled the cedars light as lances. 

"Lazy Kwasind!" said the young 
men, 
As they sported in the meadow ; 
" Why stand idly looking at us. 
Leaning on the rock behind you? 
Come and wrestle with the others, 
Let us pitch the quoit together ! " 

Lazy Kwasind made no answer. 
To their challenge made no answer, 
Only rose, and, slowly turning. 
Seized the huge rock in his fingers, 
Tore it from its deep foundation, 
Poised it in the air a moment, 
Pitched it sheer into the river, 
Sheer into the swift Pauwating, 
Where it still is seen in Summer. 

Once as down that foaming river, 
Down the rapids of Pauwating, 
Kwasind sailed with his companions, 
In the stream he saw a beaver, 
Saw Ahmeek, the King of lieavers, 
Struggling with the rushing currents, 
Rising, sinking in the water. 

Without speaking, without pausing, 
Kwasind leaped into the river, 
Plunged beneath the bubbling surface,. 
Through the whirlpools chased the bea- 
ver, 

Mowed him among the islands, 
Sta lone beneath the water, 

That his terrified companions 
Cried, " Alas | good by to Kwasind ! 
We shall nevermore see Kwasind ! " 
But he reappeared triumphant. 
And upon his shining shoulders 
Brought the beaver, dead and dripping, 
Brought the King of all the lu-avers. 

And these two. as I have (old you, 
Were the friends of Hiawatha, 
( Inbi.ibos, the musician. 
And the very Strong man, Kwasind. 
Long they lived in peace together, 
Spake with naked hearts together, 
Pondering much and much contriving 
How the tribes of men might prosper. 

VII. 

Hiawatha's sailing. 

" Give me of your bark, ( > P.irch-Tree I 
Of your yellow bark, O Birch-Tree I 



HIAWATHA'S SAILING. 



213 



Growing by the rushing river, 
Tall and stately in the valley ! 
I a light canoe will build me, 
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, 
That shall float upon the river, 
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily ! 

"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-Tree ! 
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper, 
For the Summer-time is coming, 
And the sun is warm in heaven, 
And you need no white-skin wrapper ! " 

Thus aloud cried Hiawatha 
In the solitary forest, 
By the rushing Taquamenaw, 
When the birds were singing gayly, 
In the Moon of Leaves were singing, 
And the sun, from sleep awaking, 
Started up and said, " Behold me ! 
Geezis, the great Sun, behold me ! " 

And the tree with all its branches 
Rustled in the breeze of morning, 
Saying, with a sigh of patience, 
"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha ! " 

With his knife the tree he girdled ; 
Just beneath its lowest branches, 
Just above the roots, he cut it, 
Till the sap came oozing outward ; 
Down the trunk, from top to bottom, 
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, 
With a wooden wedge he raised it, 
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. 

" Give me of your boughs, O Cedar ! 
Of your strong and pliant branches, 
My canoe to make more steady, 
Make more strong and firm beneath 
me!" 

Through the summit of the Cedar 
Went a sound, a cry of horror, 
Went a murmur of resistance ; 
But it whispered, bending downward, 
" Take my boughs, O Hiawatha ! " 

Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, 
Shaped them straightway to a frame- 
work, 
Like two bows he formed and shaped 

them, 
Like two bended bows together. 

" Give me of your roots, O Tamarack ! 
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-Tree ! 
My canoe to bind together, 
So to bind the ends together 
That the water may not enter, 
That the river may not wet me ! " 



And the Larch, with all its fibres, 
Shivered in the air of morning, 
Touched his forehead with its tassels, 
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow, 
" Take them all, O Hiawatha ! " 

From the earth he tore the fibres, 
Tore the tough roots of the Larch-Tree, 
Closely sewed the bark together, 
Bound it closely to the framework. 

" Give me of your balm, O Fir-Tree ! 
Of your balsam and your resin, 
So to close the seams together 
That the water may not enter, 
That the river may not wet me ! " 

And the Fir-Tree, tall and sombre, 
Sobbed through all its robes of dark- 
ness, 
Rattled like a shore with pebbles, 
Answered wailing, answered weeping, 
" Take my balm, O Hiawatha ! " 

And he took the tears of balsam, 
Took the resin of the Fir-Tree, 
Smeared therewith each seam and fis- 
sure, 
Made each crevice safe from water. 

" Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog! 
All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog ! 
I will make a necklace of them, 
Make a girdle for my beauty, 
And two stars to deck her bosom ! " 

From a hollow tree the Hedgehog 
With his sleepy eyes looked at him, 
Shot his shining quills, like arrows, 
Saying, with a drowsy murmur, 
Through the tangle of his whiskers, 
" Take my quills, O Hiawatha ! " 

From the ground the quills he gath- 
ered, 
All the little shining arrows, 
Stained them red and blue and yellow, 
With the juice of roots and berries ; 
Into his canoe he wrought them, 
Round its waist a shining girdle, 
Round its bows a gleaming necklace, 
On its breast two stars resplendent. 

Thus the Birch Canoe was builded 
In the valley, by the river, 
In the bosom of the forest ; ^ 
And the forest's life was in it, 
All its mystery and its magic, 
All the lightness of the birch-tree, 
All the toughness of the cedar, 
All the larch's supple sinews ; 
And it floated on the river 



214 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Like a yellow leaf in Autumn, 
Like a yellow water-lily. 

Paddles none had Hiawatha, 
Paddles none he had or needed, 
For his thoughts as paddles served him, 
And his wishes served to guide him ; 
Swift or slow at will he glided, 
Veered to right or left at pleasure. 

Then he called aloud to Kwasind, 
To his friend, the strong man, Kwasind, 
Saying, " Help me clear this river 
Of its sunken logs and sand-bars." 

Straight into the river Kwasind 
Plunged as if he were an otter, 
Dived as if he were a beaver, 
Stood up to his waist in water, 
To his arm-pits in the river, 
Swam and shouted in the river, 
Tugged at sunken logs and branches, 
With his hands he scooped the sand- 
bars, 
With his feet the oozo and tangle. 

And thus sailed ray Hiawatha 
Down the rushing Taquamenaw, 
Sailed through all its bends and wind- 
ings, 
Sailed through all its deeps and shallows. 
While his friend, the strong man, Kwa- 
sind, 
Swam the deeps, the shallows waded. 

Up and down the river went they, 
In and out among i: s i 
Cleared its bed of root and sand bar, 
I tagged the dead I >m its c hannel, 

Made its p safe and certain, 

Made a pathway for the people, 
From its springs among the mountains, 
To the waters of Pauwating, 
To the bay of Taquamenaw. 

VIII. 

iiiawatha's fishing. 

Forth upon the Gitche Gumee, 
On the shining Dig-Sea-Water, 
. h his fishing-line of cedar, 
ie twisted bark of cedar, 
Forth to catch the sturgeon Nahma, 
Mishe-Nahma, King of Fishes, 
In his birch canoe exulting 
All alone went Hiawatha. 

Through the clear, transparent water 
could sec the fishes swimming 
Far down in the depths below him ; 



See the yellow perch, the Sahwa, 
Like a sunbeam in the water, 
See the Shawgashee, the craw-fish, 
Like a spider on the bottom, 
On the white and sandy bottom. 

At the stern sat Hiawatha, 
With his fishing-line of cedar ; 
In his plumes the breeze of morning 
Played as in the hemlock-branches ; 
On the bows, with tail erected, 
Sat the squirrel, Adjidaumo ; 
In his fur the breeze of morning 
Played as in the prairie grasses. 

On the white sand of the bottom 
Lay the monster Mishe-Nahma, 
Lay the sturgeon, King of Fishes ; 
Through his gills he breathed the water, 
With his fins he fanned and winnowed, 
With his tail he swept the sand-floor. 

There he lay in all his armor ; 
On each side a shield to guard him, 
Plates of bone upon his forehead, 
Down his sides and back and shoulders 
Plates of bone with spines projecting ! 
Painted was he with his war-paints, 
Stripes of yellow, red, and azure, 
Spots of brown and spots of sable; 
And he lay there on the bottom, 
Fanning with his fins of purple, 
As above him Hiawatha 
In his birch canoe came sailing, 
With his fishing-line of cedar. 

" fake my bait ! " cried Hiawatha, 
Down into the depths beneath him, 
'• I'. ike my bait, O Sturgeon, Nahma 1 
Come up from below the water, 
Let us see which is the stronger ! " 
And he dropped his line of cedar 
Through the clear, transparent water, 
Waited vainly for an answer, 
Long sat waiting for an answer, 
And repeating loud and loud 
" Take my bait, O King of Fishes I " 

Quiet lay the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Fanning slowly in the water, 
Looking up at Hiawatha, 
Listening to his call and clamor, 
His unnecessary tumult, 
Till he wearied of the shouting; 
And he said to the Kenosha, 
To the pike, the Maskenozh 
" Take the bait of this rude fellow, 
Break the line of Hiawatha I " 

In hio fingers Hiawatha 



HIAWATHA'S FISHING. 



215 



Felt the loose line jerk and tighten ; 
As he drew it in, it tugged so 
That the birch canoe stood endwise, 
Like a birch log in the water, 
With the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Perched and frisking on the summit. 

Full of scorn was Hiawatha 
When he saw the fish rise upward, 
Saw the pike, the Maskenozha, 
Coming nearer, nearer to him, 
And he shouted through the water, 
" Esa i esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are but the pike, Kenozha, 
You are not the fish I wanted, 
You are not the King of Fishes ! " 

Reeling downward to the bottom 
Sank the pike in great confusion, 
And the mighty sturgeon, Nahma, 
Said to Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
To the bream, with scales of crimson, 
" Take the bait of this great boaster, 
Break the line of Hiawatha ! " 

Slowly upward, wavering, gleaming, 
Rose the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
Seized the line of Hiawatha, 
Swung with all his weight upon it, 
Made a whirlpool in the water, 
Whirled the birch canoe in circles, 
Round and round in gurgling eddies, 
Till the circles in the water 
Reached the far-off sandy beaches, 
Till the water-flags and rushes 
Nodded on the distant margins. 

But when Hiawatha saw him 
Slowly rising through the water, 
Lifting up his disk refulgent, 
Loud he shouted in derision, 
" Esa ! esa ! shame upon you ! 
You are Ugudwash, the sun -fish, 
You are not the fish I wanted, 
You are not the King of Fishes ! " 

Slowly downward, wavering, gleam- 
ing, 
Sank the Ugudwash, the sun-fish, 
And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Heard the shout of Hiawatha, 
Heard his challenge of defiance, 
The unnecessary tumult, 
Ringing far across the water. 

From the white sand of the bottom 
Up he rose with angry gesture, 
Quivering in each nerve and fibre, 
Clashing all his plates of armor, 
Gleaming bright with all his war-paint ; 



In his wrath he darted upward, 
Flashing leaped into the sunshine, 
Opened his great jaws, and swallowed 
Both canoe and Hiawatha. 

Down into that darksome cavern 
Plunged the headlong Hiawatha, 
As a log on some black river 
Shoots and plunges down the rapids, 
Found himself in utter darkness, 
Groped about in helpless wonder, 
Till he felt a great heart beating, 
Throbbing in that utter darkness. 

And he smote it in his anger, 
With his fist, the heart of Nahma, 
Felt the mighty King of Fishes 
Shudder through each nerve and fibre, 
Heard the water gurgle round him 
As he leaped and staggered through it, 
Sick at heart, and faint and weary. 

Crosswise then did Hiawatha 
Drag his birch-canoe for safety, 
Lest from out the jaws of Nahma, 
In the turmoil and confusion, 
Forth he might be hurled and perish. 
And the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Frisked and chattered very gayly, 
Toiled and tugged with Hiawatha 
Till the labor was completed. 

Then said Hiawatha to him, 
" O my little friend, the squirrel, 
Bravely have you toiled to help me ; 
Take the thanks of Hiawatha, 
And the name which now he gives you ; 
For hereafter and forever 
Boys shall call you Adjidaumo, 
Tail-in-air the boys shall call you ! " 

And again the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Gasped and quivered in the water, 
Then was still, and drifted landward 
Till he grated on the pebbles, 
Till the listening Hiawatha 
Heard him grate upon the margin, 
Felt him strand upon the pebbles, 
Knew that Nahma, King of Fishes, 
Lay there dead upon the margin. 

Then he heard a clang and flapping, 
As of many wings assembling, 
Heard a screaming and confusion, 
As of birds of prey contending, 
Saw a gleam of light above him, 
Shining through the ribs of Nahma, 
Saw the glittering eyes of sea-gulls, 
Of Kayoshk, the sea-gulls, peering, 
Gazing at him through the opening, 



2l6 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA, 



Heard them saving to each other, 
" 'T is our brother, Hiawatha ! " 

And lie shouted from below them, 
Cried exulting from the caverns : 
" O ye sea-gulls ! O my brothers ! 
I have slain the sturgeon, Nahma ; 
Make the rifts a little larger, 
With your claws the openings widen, 
Set me free from this dark prison, 
And henceforward and forever 
Men shall speak of your achievements, 
Calling you kayoshk, the sea gulls, 
Yes, Kayoshk, the Noble Scratchers ! " 

And the wild and clamorous sea-gulls 
Toiled with beak and claw s together, 
Made the rifts and openings wider 
In the mighty ril ihzna, 

And from peril and from prison, 
mi the body of the sturgeon, 
From the peril of the water, 
They released my Hiawatha. 

He was standing near his wigwam, 
( >n the margin of the water, 
And he called to old Nokomis, 
led and beckoned to Nokomis, 
inted to the sturgeon, Nahma, 
Tying lifeless on the pebbles, 
"With the sea-gulls feeding on him. 

11 I have slam the Mishe- Nahma, 

tin the King of Fishes ! " said he ; 
" Look ! the sea-gulls feed upon him, 
. my friend hk, the sea-gulls; 

] >rive them not a v. 

'I hey have saved me from great peril 
In the body of the sturgeon, 

t until their meal is end 
Till their craws are full with feasting, 
Till they homeward fly, at sunset, 

their nests among the mar 1; 
Then bring all your pots and kettles, 
And make oil I i Winter." 

d she waited till the sun 
Till the pallid moon, the Night sun, 
e the tranquil water, 

Till Kayoshk, the sated sea mills, 
From their banquet rose with clamor, 

And across the fiery sunset 
U ! their way to far off islands, 

heir nests among the 

1 1 • his sleep went 1 1 iawatha, 

And Nokomis to her labor, 

itient in the moonlight, 
Till the sun and moon changed places, 
Till the sky was red with sunri 



And Kayoshk, the hungry sea-gulls, 
Came back from the reedy islands, 
Clamorous for their morning banquet. 
Three whole days and nights alter- 
nate 
Old Nokomis and the sea-gulls 
Stripped the oily flesh of Nahma, 
Till the waves washed through the rib- 
bones, 
Till the sea-gulls came no longer, 
And upon the sands lay nothing 
But the skeleton of Nahma. 

IX. 

HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. 

On the shores ofGitche Gumee, 
Of the shining Big Sea Water, 

d Nokomis, the old woman. 
Pointing with her finger westward, 
O'er the water pointing westward. 
To the purple clouds of sunset. 

PCely the red sun descending 
Bumed his way along the heavi 
Set the sky on lire behind him, 

-ar parties, when retreating, 
Bum the prairies on their war-trail ; 
And the moon, the Night-sun, east- 
ward, 
Suddenly starting from his ambush, 

'owed last those bloody footprint*! 
Followed m that fiery war tr.nl. 
With its glare upon his featui 

•mis, tlie old woman. 
Pointing w ith her fin. waul. 

S] ake words to 1 \ iawatha : 

"Yonder dwells the great Pcarl- 
I at her, 

>n, the an, 

ManitO oi Wealth and Wampum, 

( luarded by his fiery seroents, 
Guarded by the black pitch wati 

i < an see his i, pent*, 

The Kenabeek, tl its, 

ling, playing in th<' water ; 

• the M.u k pitch water 

i< hing far away beyond them, 
To the purple c louds ot sum I 

" lie it was who slew my fath< 

By his w it ked w [lea and cunnii 

When he from the moon 

When he came on earth me. 

the might i ns, 

Sends the level from the ma 






HIAWATHA AND THE PEARL-FEATHER. 



217 



Sends the pestilential vapors, 
Sends the poisonous exhalations, 
Sends the white fog from the fen-lands, 
Sends disease and death among us ! 

" Take your bow, O Hiawatha, 
Take your arrows, jasper-headed, 
Take your war-club, Puggawaugun, 
And your mittens, Minjekahwun, 
And your birch canoe for sailing, . 
And the oil of Mishe-Nahma, 
So to smear its sides, that swiftly 
You may pass the black pitch-water ; 
Slay this merciless magician, 
Save the people from the fever 
That he breathes across the fen-lands, 
And avenge my father's murde* ! " 

Straightway then my Hiawatha 
Armed himself with all his war-gear, 
Launched his birch-canoe for sailing ; 
With his palm its sides he patted, - 
Said with glee, "Cheemaun, my dar- 
ling, 
O my Birch- Canoe ! leap forward, 
Where you see the fiery serpents, 
Where you see the black pitch-water ! " 

Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting, 
And the noble Hiawatha 
Sang his war-song wild and woful, 
And above him the war-eagle, 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Master of all fowls with feathers, 
Screamed and hurtled through the heav- 
ens. 

Soon he reached the fiery serpents, 
The Kenabeek, the great serpents, 
Lying huge upon the water, 
Sparkling, rippling in the water, 
Lying coiled across the passage, 
With their blazing crests uplifted, 
Breathing fiery fogs and vapors, 
So that none could pass beyond them. 

But the fearless Hiawatha 
Cried aloud, and spake in this wise : 
" Let me pass my way, Kenabeek, 
Let me go upon my journey ! " 
And they answered, hissing fiercely, 
With their fiery breath made answer : 
" Back, go back ! O Shaugodaya ! 
Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart ! " 

Then the angry Hiawatha 
Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
Seized his arrows, jasper-headed, 
Shot them fast among the serpents ; 
Every twanging of the bow-string 



Was a war-cry and a death-cry, 
Every whizzing of an arrow 
Was a death-song of Kenabeek. 

Weltering in the bloody water, 
Dead lay all the fiery serpents, 
And among them Hiawatha 
Harmless sailed, and cried exulting : 
" Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling ! 
Onward to the black pitch-water ! " 

Then he took the oil of Nahma, 
And the bows and sides anointed, 
Smeared them well with oil, that 

swiftly 
He might pass the black pitch-water. 

All night long he sailed upon it, 
Sailed upon that sluggish water, 
Covered with its mould of ages, 
Black with rotting water-rushes, 
Rank with flags and leaves of lilies, 
Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal, 
Lighted by the shimmering moonlight, 
And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined, 
Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled, 
In their weary night-encampments. 

All the air was white with moon- 
light, 
All the water black with shadow, 
And around him the Suggema, 
The mosquito, sang his war-song. 
And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee, 
Waved their torches to mislead him ; 
And the bull-frog, the Dahinda, 
Thrust his head into the moonlight, 
Fixed his yellow eyes upon him, 
Sobbed and sank beneath the surface ; 
And anon a thousand whistles, 
Answered over all the fen-lands. 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
Far off on the reedy margin, 
Heralded the hero's coming. 

Westward thus fared Hiawatha, 
Toward the realm of Megissogwon, 
Toward the land of the Pearl- Feather, 
Till the level moon stared at him, 
In his face stared pale and haggard, 
Till the sun was hot behind him, 
Till it burned upon his shoulders, 
And before him on the upland 
He could see the Shining Wigwam 
Of the Manito of Wampum, 
Of the mightiest of Magicians. 

Then once more Cheemaun he pat- 
ted, 
To his birch-canoe said, " Onward 1 " 



2l8 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



And it stirred in all its fibres, 
And with one great bound of triumph 
Leaped across the water-lilies, 
Leaped through tangled rlags and 

rushes, 
And upon the beach beyond them 
Dry-shod landed Hiawatha. 

Straight he took his bow of ash-tree, 
On the sand one end he rested, 
With his knee he pressed the middle, 
Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter, 

>k an aiTow, jasper-headed, 
Shot it at the Shining Wigwam, 
Sent it singing as a herald, 
As a bearer oi his me 
• lis challenge loud and lofty : 
11 Come forth from your lodge, Pearl- 

uher ! 
Hiawatha waits your coming ! " 

Straightway from the Shining Wig- 
wam 
Came the mighty Megissogwon, 
Tall of stature, broad of shoulder, 

k and terrible in aspect, 
Clad from head to foot in wampum, 
Armed with all his warlike weapons, 

I like the sky of morning, 
Streaked with crimson, blue, and yellow, 

Ited with great eagle-feathers. 
Streaming upward, streaming outward. 

'; Weill know you, Hiawatha!" 
Cried he i; f thunder, 

In a tone of loud n. 

4> Haste n back, < > Shaugodaya ! 

I back among the women, 

• its, Fain! heart ! 

I will i as you stand there, 

lew her father ! " 
Hut my Hiawatha answered, 

Hinted, fearing nothing : 
" Big v i not smite like war clubs, 

1 rtful breath is not a bow-Stri 
aits are not so sharp as arm 

Iter things than words are, 
ions mightier than boastings !" 
I hen began the greatest battle 
That the sun had ever looked on, 
'J hat the war-birds ever witnessed. 
All a Summei 1. 

I unrise to the sun 

ifta of I [iawatha 
rmless hit the shirt of wampum, 

I I irmless fell the blows lie dealt it 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 



Harmless fell the heavy war-club ; 
It could dash the rocks asunder, 
But it could not break the me lies 
Of that magic shirt of wampum. 

Till at sunset Hiawatha, 
Leaning on his bow of ash-tree. 
Wounded, weary, and desponding, 
With his mighty war-club broken, 
With his mittens torn and tattered, 
And three useless arrows only. 
Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree, 
From whosebranches trailed the mosses, 
And whose trunk was coated over 
With the Dead-man's Mocca 

leather, 
With the fungus white and yellow. 

Suddenly from ti .hs above him 

Sang the Mama, the woodpecker: 

"Aim your arrows, Hiawatha, 

At the head of Megissogwon, 

Strike the tuft of hair upon it, 

At their roots the long black tresses : 

There alone can he be wound 

Winged with leathers, tipped with 
jasper. 
Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow, 
Just as von, stooping. 

Raised a ! tone to throw it. 

Full upon the crown it struck him, 
At the roots of his long ti 
And In- reeled and si i forward, 

Plunging like a wounded bison, 

i V/hekee, the bison, 
When the snow is on the prairie. 

Swifter Hew the second arrow, 
In the pathway of the other, 

n ing deeper than the other, 

Wound r than the oth 

I the knees of Me 
Shook like wiiidv h him, 

t and trembled like the rush 
' thr third and latent arrow 

Swiftest flew, and wound 
And the might on 

Saw the fii i tuguk, 

i I )e.itl at him. 

Heard his voice call in the darkness; 
At the feel of Hiawatha 
Lifeless lav th« her, 

the might I 

Then tl itha 

Called the Mama, th< 
From his perch among the branches 
Of the melancholy pine tree. 



HIAWATHA'S WOOING. 



219 



And, in honor of his service, 
Stained with blood the tuft of feathers 
On the little head of Mama ; 
Even to this day he wears it, 
Wears the tuft of crimson feathers, 
As a symbol of his service. 

Then he stripped the shirt of wampum 
From the back of Megissogwon, 
As a trophy of the battle, 
As a signal of his conquest. 
On the shore he left the body, 
Half on land and half in water. 
In the sand his feet were buried, 
And his face was in the water, 
And above him, wheeled and clamored 
The Keneu, the great war-eagle, 
Sailing round in narrower circles, 
Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer. 

From the wigwam Hiawatha 
Bore the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All his wealth of skins and wampum, 
Furs of bison and of beaver, 
Furs of sable and of ermine, 
Wampum belts and strings and pouches, 
Quivers wrought with beads of wampum, 
Filled with arrows, silver-headed. 

Homeward then he sailed exulting, 
Homeward through the black pitch- 
water, 
Homeward through the weltering ser- 
pents, 
With the trophies of the battle, 
With a shout and song of triumph. 

On the shore stood old Nokomis, 
On the shore stood Chibiabos, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
Waiting for the hero's coming, 
Listening to his song of triumph. 
And the people of the village 
Welcomed him with songs and dances, 
Made a joyous feast, and shouted : 
" Honor be to Hiawatha ! 
He has slain the great Pearl -Feather, 
Slain the mightiest of Magicians, 
Him, who sent the fiery fever, 
Sent the white fog from the fen-lands, 
Sent disease and death among us ! " 

Ever dear to Hiawatha 
Was the memory of Mama ! 
And in token of his friendship, 
As a mark of his remembrance, 
He adorned and decked his pipe-stem 
With the crimson tuft of feathers, 
With the blood-red crest of Mama. 



But the wealth of Megissogwon, 
All the trophies of the battle, 
He divided with his people, 
Shared it equally among them. 

X. 

Hiawatha's wooing. 

" As unto the bow the cord is, 
So unto the man is woman, 
Though she bends him, she obeys him, 
Though she draws him, yet she follows, 
Useless each without the other ! " 

Thus the youthful Hiawatha 
Said within himself and pondered, 
Much perplexed by various feelings, 
Listless, longing, hoping, fearing, 
Dreaming still of Minnehaha, 
Of the lovely Laughing Water, 
In the land of the Dacotahs. 

" Wed a maiden of your people," 
Warning said the old Nokomis ; 
" Go not eastward, go not westward, 
For a stranger, whom we know not ! 
Like a fire upon the hearth-stone 
Is a neighbor's homely daughter, 
Like the starlight or the moonlight 
Is the handsomest of strangers ! " 

Thus dissuading spake Nokomis, 
And my Hiawatha answered 
Only this : " Dear old Nokomis, 
Very pleasant is the firelight, 
But I like the starlight better, 
Better do I like the moonlight ! " 

Gravely then said old Nokomis : 
" Bring not here an idle maiden, 
Bring not here a useless woman, 
Hands unskilful, feet unwilling ; 
Bring a wife with nimble fingers, 
Heart and hand that move together, 
Feet that run on willing errands ! " 

Smiling answered Hiawatha : 
" In the land of the Dacotahs 
Lives the Arrow-maker's daughter, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Handsomest of all the women. 
I will bring her to your wigwam, 
She shall run upon your errands, 
Be your starlight, moonlight, firelight, 
Be the sunlight of my people ! " 

Still dissuading said Nokomis : 
" Bring not to my lodge a stranger 
From the land of the Dacotahs ! 
Very fierce are the Dacotahs, 



2 20 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA. 



Often is there war between us, 
There are feuds yet uuforgotten, 
Wounds that ache and still may open ! " 

Laughing answered Hiawatha: 
" For that reason, if no other, 
Would I wed the fair Dacotah, 
That our tribes might be united, 
That old feuds might be forgotten, 
And old wounds be healed forever ! " 

Thus departed Hi iwatha 
the land of the Dacotah 

I the land of handsome women ; 
Striding over t; 1 mead 
Through interminable fi 
Through uninterrupted silence. 

W ic, 

At each stride a mile he measured ; 

teemed long before him, 
And his he run his footste 

And he journeyed witlv 
Till he heard the r, 

[inneh i 
him through the silence. 
" Pleasant is the sound .' " he murmui 
mt is the voice that calls m 
i the ou 
' 1 .vixt the rod the sunshine, 

II rds of fallow deer 

! . .v not 1 li.v.-. una : 

now whisper rva 

id, 
I he irt o( • >uck ; 

Threw the deer across his shoulder, 
I without pausing. 

Irrow-n 

In the ! the I » IC t ills, 

Arr if chalcedony. 

At his side, in all her beauty, 

• the lovely Minnehah 
his daugnter, Laughing Water, 
Plaiting m and rush, 

Ofthc past the old mai hghta were, 

And the maiden's of the futui 

I [e was think he sal there, 

( )f the ' with siu li 

I I nek th< on, 

( )n the Mu the m< 

• I i th ward, 
( )n the wing, the clan 
Thinking of the gieat war-parti 



How they came to buy his arrr 

Could not fight without his an* 

Ah. no more such noble wai 

Could be found on earth as they were ! 

v the men were all like women, 
Only used their tongues for weapoi 

She was thinking o\ a hunt 
From another tribe and country. 
Young and tall and very handsome, 
Who one morning, in the Spring-time, 
Came to buy her fatlu 

and rested in the wigwam, 
Lingered I >ut the doorway, 

iking back as he departed. 
She had heard her father praise him, 
Praise his courage and hi in ; 

tld he come again for am 

To the Fall- of Minnehaha? 
( >n the mat her hands lay idle, 
And her my. 

Through their thoughts they heard 

a !■ 
II ill i rustling in the branch' 
And with glowing check and forehead, 
h the deer upon h 

■ 
Straight the ancient 
»ked up gravely from his labor, 

he unfi 

• him enter at the 

to meet him, 

ii are welcomi 

! .aughing Wai 
itha laid his burdV 

Th: >in Ins shoulders ; 

the maiden looked up at him, 
ked up from her mat of rush 
1 with gentle lo<>l it, 

rath* ' 
mi, 
M i 1 and whitened, 

Drawn and painted on it^ curtains, 

And so tall the do hardly 

\ itha 
1 1 irdly touched h itheri 

v. 
Then upro •<• ihe I .aughi :er, 

ground fair Minnchal 
it unfinish- 
ight forth food and set bi 
Wat( i brought them from th 
Gave them food in earthen vetM 









HIAWATHA'S WOOING. 



221 



Gave them drink in bowls of bass-wood, 
Listened while the guest was speaking, 
Listened while her father answered, 
But not once her lips she opened, 
Not a single word she uttered. 

Yes, as in a dream she listened 
To the words of Hiawatha, 
As he talked of old Nokomis, 
Who had nursed him in his childhood, 
As he told of his companions,. 
Chibiabos, the musician, 
And the very strong man, Kwasind, 
And of happiness and plenty 
In the land of the Ojibways, 
In the pleasant land and peaceful. 

"After many years of warfare, 
Many years of strife and bloodshed, 
There is peace between the Ojibways 
And the tribe of the Dacotahs." 
Thus continued Hiawatha, 
And then added, speaking slowly, 
" That this peace may last forever, 
And our hands be clasped more closely, 
And our hearts be more united, 
Give me as my wife this maiden, 
Minnehaha, Laughing Water, 
Loveliest of Dacotah women ! " 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Paused a moment ere he answered, 
Smoked a little while in silence, 
Looked at Hiawatha proudly, 
Fondly looked at Laughing Water, 
And made answer very gravely : 
"Yes, if Minnehaha wishes ; 
Let your heart speak, Minnehaha ! " 

And the lovely Laughing Water 
Seemed more lovely, as she stood there, 
Neither willing nor reluctant, 
As she went to Hiawatha, 
Softly took the seat beside him, 
While she said, and blushed to say it, 
" I will follow you, my husband ! " 

This was Hiawatha's wooing ! 
Thus it was he won the daughter 
Of the ancient Arrow-maker, 
In the land of the Dacotahs ! 

From the wigwam he departed, 
Leading with him Laughing Water ; 
Hand in hand they went together, 
Through the woodland and the meadow, 
Left the old man standing lonely 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
Heard the Falls of Minnehaha 
Calling to them from the distance, 



Crying to them from afar off, 

" Fare thee well, O Minnehaha ! " 

And the ancient Arrow-maker 
Turned again unto his labor, 
Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
Murmuring to himself, and saying : 
" Thus it is our daughters leave us, 
Those we love, and those who love us ! 
Just when they have learned to help us, 
When we are old and lean upon them, 
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, 
With his flute of reeds, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the village, 
Beckons to the fairest maiden, 
And she follows where he leads her, 
Leaving all things for the stranger ! " 

Pleasant was the journey homeward, 
Through interminable forests, 
Over meadow, over mountain, 
Over river, hill, and hollow. 
Short it seemed to Hiawatha, 
Though they journeyed very slowly, 
Though his pace he checked and slack- 
ened 
To the steps of Laughing Water. 

Over wide and rushing rivers 
In his arms he bore the maiden ; 
Light he thought her as a feather, 
As the plume upon his head-gear ; 
Cleared the tangled pathway for her, 
Bent aside the swaying branches, 
Made at night a lodge of branches, 
And a bed with boughs of hemlock, 
And a fire before the doorway 
With the dry cones of the pine-tree. 

All the travelling winds went with 
them, 
O'er the meadow, through the forest ; 
All the stars of night looked at them, 
Watched with sleepless eyes their slum- 
ber ; 
From his ambush in the oak-tree 
Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, 
Watched with eager eyes the lovers ; 
And the rabbit, the Wabasso, 
Scampered from the path before them, 
Peering, peeping from his burrow, 
Sat erect upon his haunches, 
Watched with curious eyes the lovers. 

Pleasant was the journey homeward I 
All the birds sang loud and sweetly 
Songs of happiness and heart's-ease** 
Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
" Happy are you, Hiawatha, 



222 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Having such a wife to love you ! " 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
" Happy are you. Laughing Water, 
Having such a noble husband ! " 

From the sky the sun benignant 
I >ked upon them thro' the branches, 
Saying to them, " ( ) my children, 
I ve is sunshine, hate is shadow, 
Life is checkered shade and sunshine, 
Rule by love. < I Hiawatha ! " 

•n the sky the moon looked at them, 
ed the lodge with mystic si lend* 
Whispered to them. " < > my children, 
I 
Man imperious, woman feeble; 

: is mil. >w ; 

Ku' tience. Watei 

Tims it was th ed home- 

ward ; 
Thus it w. watha 

mis 
Brought the moonlight, starlight, fire- 

1 : the sunshine of his people, 

Minnehaha, 1 Water, 

m< ii 
In tl the I tacotahs, 

In the land of ha women. 

XI 

miawatha's WBDDI1 

ill hear how 1 | k-Keen 
/e 

I ng ; 

■ t' musi( i. ins, 

:ig ; 

J I ! 

I li the man elloi 

adventure, 
Thai tl 

That the time might pass m< ly, 

d. 
Sumptuous was t! mis 

Made al I [iawatl 

All the od, 

W'luie and i olished very smoothly, 
All the horn of bison, 

othly. 
. illage 
Ml- ith wand i "t willow, 

m, 
As a token of the feasting; 



And the wedding guests assembled, 
Clad in all their richest raiment, 
Robes of fur and belts of wampum, 
Splendid with their paint and plumage, 
Beautiful with beads and tar- 
First they ate the sturgeon. Nahma, 
And the pike, the Maskcnozha, 
C aught and cooked by old Nokomis ; 
Then on \ emican they feasted, 
Pemican .md buffalo marrow. 
Haunch I and hump of bison, 

>w calces of tl damin, 

And the wild rice of the ri\ t 
But the gracious H iawatl 
<1 the love! r, 

d the careful old N 
'1 asted not the fo< d before them, 
y waited on the « thei 

d their rce. 

And v hen all the guests had finished, 
mis, bi 
1 in an an ] 

Killed the I ing 

With t« baci o n< m 
Mixed with bark ^ fthe red willow, 

.\i il with hell 

. uk- kc< 
I 

us, 
I hat tl 
'I hat the til 
At (I oi 

u l'uk -keewis, 
I 
rry mischi 
Whom the i i im- 

"1. 
-• amoi 
.Skilled was In- ii 
tin 
In the 
In the | 
Skilled 

In all d, 

I I 

km I ■ 

'1 '! tint- 

ut. 

lied him < owai 
Idler, pambler, \ 
Little i 
kin i he for th' 

Loved the handsn vis. 



HI A WA THA >S WEDDING-FEA S T. 



223 



He was dressed in shirt of doe-skin, 
White and soft, and fringed with ermine, 
All inwrought with beads of wampum ; 
He was dressed in deer-skin leggings, 
Fringed with hedgehog quills and 

ermine 
And in moccasins of buck-skin, 
Thick with quills and beads embroi- 
dered. 
On his head were plumes of swan's down, 
On his heels were tails of foxes, 
In one- hand a fan of feathers, 
And a pipe was in the other. 

Barred with streaks of red and yellow, 
Streaks of blue and bright vermilion, 
Shone the face of Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
From his forehead fell his tresses, 
Smooth, and parted like a woman's, 
Shining bright with oil, and plaited, 
Hung with braids of scented grasses, 
As among the guests assembled, 
To the sound of flutes and singing, 
To the sound of drums and voices, 
Rose the handsome Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
And began his mystic dances. 

First he danced a solemn measure, 
Very slow in step and gesture, 
In and out among the pine-trees, 
Through the shadows and the sunshine, 
Treading softly like a panther. 
Then more swiftly and still swifter, 
Whirling, spinning round in circles, 
Leaping o'er the guests assembled, 
Eddying round and round the wigwam, 
Till the leaves went whirling with him, 
Till the dust and wind together 
Swept in eddies round about him. 

Then along the sandy margin 
Of the lake, the Big-Sea- Water, 
On he sped with frenzied gestures, 
Stamped upon the sand, and tossed it 
Wildly in the air around him ; 
Till the wind became a whirlwind, 
Till the sand was blown and sifted 
Like great snowdrifts o'er the landscape, 
Heaping all the shores with SandDunes, 
Sand Hills of the Nagow Wudjoo ! 

Thus the merry Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Danced his Beggar's Dance to ple_ase 

them, 
And, returning, sat down laughing 
There among the guests assembled, 
Sat and fanned himself serenely 
With his fan of turkey-feathers. 



Then they said to Chibiabos, 
To the friend of Hiawatha, 
To the sweetest of all singers, 
To the best of all musicians, 
" Sing to us, O Chibiabos ! 
Songs of love and songs of longing, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gayiy, 
And our guests be more contented ! " 

And the gentle Chibiabos 
Sang in accents sweet and tender, 
Sang in tones of deep emotion, 
Songs of love and songs of longing ; 
Looking still at Hiawatha, 
Looking at fair Laughing Water, 
Sang he softly, sang in this wise : 

" Onaway ! Awake, beloved ! 
Thou the wild-flower of the forest ! 
Thou the wild-bird of the prairie ! 
Thou with eyes so soft and fawn-like I 

" If thou only lookest at me, 
I am happy, I am happy, 
As the lilies of the prairie, 
When they feel the dew upon them ! 

" Sweet thy breath is as the fragrance 
Of the wild-flowers in the morning, 
As their fragrance is at evening, 
In the Moon when leaves are falling. 

" Does not all the blood within me 
Leap to meet thee, leap to meet thee, 
As the springs to meet the sunshine, 
In the Moon when nights are bright- 
est? 

" Onaway ! my heart sings to thee, 
Sings with joy when thou art near me, 
As the sighing, singing branches 
In the pleasant Moon of Strawberries ! 

" When thou art not pleased, beloved, 
Then my heart is sad and darkened, 
As the shining river darkens 
When the clouds drop shadows on it ! 

" When thou smilest, my beloved, 
Then my troubled heart is brightened, 
As in sunshine gleam the ripples 
That the cold wind makes in rivers. 

" Smiles the earth, and smile the 
waters, 
Smile the cloudless skies above us, 
But I lose the way of smiling 
When thou art no longer near me ! 

" I myself, myself! behold me ! 
Blood of my beating heart, behold me ! 
O awake, awake, beloved ! 
Onaway ! awake, beloved ! " 



224 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA. 



Thus the gentle Chibiabos 
Sang his song of love and longing ; 
And Iagoo, the great boaster, 
He the marvellous story-teller, 
He the friend of old Nokomis, 
Jealous of the sweet musician, 
Jealous of the applause they gave him, 

in all the eyes around him, 
Saw in all their looks and gestures, 
That the wedding guests assembled 
Longed to hear his pleasant stories, 
His immeasurable falsehoods. 
Very boastful was Iagoo : 
ver heard he an adventure 
But himself had met a greater; 

er any deed of da. 
But himself had done a bolder ; 
Never any marvellous story 
But himself could tell a stranger. 

Would you listen to his boasting, 
Would you only give him credence, 
one ever shot an arrow 
• so far and high as he had ; 
I er caught so many fisl 
1 er killed so many reindeer, 
Ever trapped so many beaver ! 

None could run so fast as he could, 
;ie could dive so deep as he could, 
ne could swim so far as he could; 
None had made so many journeys, 

ne had seen BO many wonders, 
As this wonderful Iagoo, 
As this marvellous story-tell 

Thus his name became a by-word 
• among the people ; 
And whene'er a boastful hui 
Praised his own address too highly, 
Or a warrior, home retumin 
Talked too much of his achievements, 
All his hearers cried, '* I igoo ! 
Here ' 1 i ome among us I " 

He it was who carved the cradle 
the little Hiawatha, 

ed its framework out of linden, 
ind it strong with reindeer sinews; 
He it was who taught him later 
How to make his bows and arrows, 
How to make the bows of ash tree, 
And the arrows of the oak-tr 
So among the mbled 

At my Hiawatha's wedding 
Sat Iagoo, old and ugly, 
Sat the marvellous story-teller. 
And they said, M O good Iagoo, 



Tell us now a tale of wonder, 
Tell us of some strange adventure, 
That the feast may be more joyous, 
That the time may pass more gayly, 
And our guests be more contented ! " 

And Iagoo answered straightway, 
" You shall hear a tale of wonder, 
You shall hear the strange adventures 
OfOsseo, the Magician, 
From the Evening Star descended." 

XII. 

THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 

Can it be the sun descending 
O'er the level plain of water? 
Or the Red Swan floating, living, 
Wounded by the magic arrow, 
Staining all the waves with crimson, 
With the crimson of its life blood, 
Filling all the air with splendor, 
With the splendor of its plumage? 

Yes ; it is the sun descending, 
Sinking down into the water ; 
All the sky is stained with purple, 
All the water flushed with crimson I 

i ; it is the Red Swan tloatin 
Diving down beneath the water; 
To the sky its wings are lifted, 
With its blood th. reddened I 

( )ver it the Star of 1 .veiling 
M Us and trembles through the purple, 
Hangs suspended in the twilight. 
No : it is a \^cm\ of wampum 
On the robes ofth< Spirit, 

is through the twilight, 
Walks in silenpe through the heavens. 

This with joy beheld la. 
And he said in haste : " Behold it I 
Sec the sacred Star of Evening ! 
You shall hear a ta'e of wonder, 
Hear the story of Osseo, 
Son of the Evening Star, Osseo ! 

" Once, in days no more remembered, 
Ages nearer the beginniu 
When the heavens were closer to 
And the Gods were more familiar, 
In the North-land lived I hunt. 
With ten young and i daughters, 

Tall and lithe as wands of willow ; 
Only Owei nee, the yo 
She the wilful and the wayward, 
She the silent, dreamy maiden, 
Was the fairest of the sist> 



THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 



225 



11 All these women married warriors, 
Married brave and haughty husbands ; 
Only Oweenee, the youngest, 
Laughed and flouted all her lovers, 
All her young and handsome suitors, 
And then married old Osseo, 
Old Osseo, poor and ugly, 
Broken with age and weak with cough- 

Always coughing like a squirrel. 

" Ah, but beautiful within him 
Was the spirit of Osseo, 
From the Evening Star descended, 
Star of Evening, Star of Woman, 
Star of tenderness and passion ! 
All its fire was in his bosom, 
All its beauty in his spirit, 
All its mystery in his being, 
All its splendor in his language ! 

" And her lovers, the rejected, 
Handsome men with belts of wampum. 
Handsome men with paint and feathers, 
Pointed at her in derision, 
Followed her with jest and laughter. 
But she said : ' 1 care not for you, 
Care not for your belts of wampum, 
Care not for your paint and feathers, 
Care not for your jests and laughter ; 
I am happy with Osseo ! ' 

" Once to some great feast invited, 
Through the damp and dusk of evening 
Walked together the ten sisters, 
Walked together with their husbands ; 
Slowly followed old Osseo, 
With fair Oweenee beside him ; 
All the others chatted gayly, 
These two only walked in silence. 

At the western sky Osseo 
Gazed intent, as if imploring, 
Often stopped and gazed imploring 
At the trembling Star of Evening, 
At the tender Star of Woman ; 
And they heard him murmur softly, 
' A k, showain nemeshin, Nosa I 
Pity, pity me, my father ! ' 

" ' Listen ! ' said the eldest sister 
* He is praying to his father ! 
What a pity that the old man 
Does not stumble in the pathway, 
Does not break his neck by falling ! 
And they laughed till all the forest 
Rang with their unseemly laughter. 

"On their pathway through the wood- 
lands 

IS 



Lay an oak, by storms uprooted, 
Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree, 
Buried half in leaves and mosses, 
Mouldering, crumbling, huge and hol- 
low. 
And Osseo, when he saw it, 
Gave a shout, a cry of anguish, 
Leaped into its yawning cavern, 
At one end went in an old man, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ; 
From the other came a young man, 
Tall and straight and strong and hand- 
some. 

"Thus Osseo was transfigured, 
Thus restored to youth and beauty ; 
But, alas for good Osseo, 
And for Oweenee, the faithful ! 
Strangely, too, was she transfigured. 
Changed into a weak old woman, 
With a staff she tottered onward, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly ! 
And the sisters and their husbands 
Laughed until the echoing forest 
Rang with their unseemly laughter. 

" But Osseo turned not from her, 
Walked with slower step beside her, 
Took her hand, as brown and withered 
As an oak-leaf is in Winter, 
Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha, 
Soothed her with soft words of kindness 
Till they reached the lodge of feasting, 
Till they sat down in the wigwam, 
Sacred to the Star of Evening, 
To the tender Star of Woman. 

" Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming, 
At the banquet sat Osseo ; 
All were merry, all were happy, 
All were joyous but Osseo. 
Neither food nor drink he tasted, 
Neither did he speak nor listen, 
But as one bewildered sat he, 
Looking dreamily and sadly, 
First at Oweenee, then upward 
At the gleaming sky above them. 

" Then a voice was heard, a whisper, 
Coming from the starry distance, 
Coming from the empty vastness, 
Low, and musical, and tender; 
And the voice said : ' O Osseo ! 
O my son, my best beloved ! 
Broken are the spells that bound you, 
All the charms of the magicians, 
All the magic powers of evil ; 
Come to me ; ascend, Osseo ! 



226 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



" ' Taste the food that stands before 
you : 
It is blessed and enchanted, 
It has magic virtues in it, 
It will change you to a spirit. 
All your bowls and all your kettles 
Shall be wood and clay no longer ; 
But the bowls be changed to wampum, 
And the kettles shall be silver ; 
They shall shine like shells of scarlet, 
Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer. 

" ' And the women shall no longer 
Bear the dreary doom of labor, 
But be changed to birds, and glisten 
With the beauty of the starlight, 
Painted with the dusky splendors 
Of the skies and clouds of evening ! ' 

" What Osseo heard as whispers, 
What as words he comprehended, 
Was but music to the others, 
Music as of birds afar off, 
Of the whippoorwill afar off, 
Of the lonely Wawonaissa 
Singing in the darksome forest. 

" Then the lodge began to tremble, 
Straight began to shake and tremble, 
And they felt it rising, rising, 
Slowly through the air ascending, 
From the darkness of the tree-tops 
Forth into the dewy starlight, 
Till it passed the topmost branches ; 
And behold ! the wooden dishes 
All were changed to shells of scarlet ! 
And behold ! the earthen kettles 
All were changed to bowls of silver ! 
And the roof-poles of the wigwam 
Were as glittering rods of silver, 
And the roof of bark upon them 
As the shining shards of beetles. 

"Then Osseo gazed around him, 
And he saw the nine fair sisters, 
All the sisters and their husbands, 
Changed to birds of various plumage. 
Some were jays and some were magpies. 
Others thrushes, others blackbirds ; 
And they hopped, and sang, and twit- 
tered, 
Perked and fluttered all their feathers, 
Strutted in their shining plumage, 
And their tails like fans unfolded. 

" Only Ovveenee, the youngest, 
Was not changed, but sat in silence, 
Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly, 
Looking sadly at the others ; 



Till Osseo, gazing upward, 
Gave another cry of anguish, 
Such a cry as he had uttered 
By the oak-tree in the forest. 

" Then returned her youth and beauty, 
And her soiled and tattered garments 
Were transformed to robes of ermine, 
And her staff became a feather, 
Yes, a shining silver feather ! 

"And again the wigwam trembled. 
Swayed and rushed through airy cur- 
rents, 
Through transparent cloud and vapor, 
And amid celestial splendors 
On the Evening Star alighted, 
As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake, 
As a leaf drops on a river, 
As the thistle-down on water. 

" Forth with cheerful words of wel- 
come 
Came the father of Osseo, 
He with radiant locks of silver, 
He with eyes serene and tender. 
And he said : ' My son, Osseo, 
Hang the cage of birds you bring there, 
Hang the cage with rods of silver, 
And the birds with glistening feathers, 
At the doorway of my wigwam.' 

" At the door he hung the bird-cage, 
And they entered in and gladly 
Listened to Osseo's father, 
Ruler of the Star of Evening, 
As he said : ' O my Osseo ! 
I have had compassion on you, 
Given you back your youth and beauty, 
Into birds of various plumage 
Changed your sisters and their hus- 
bands ; 
Changed them thus because they 

mocked you 
In the figure of the old man. 
In that aspect sad and wrinkled, 
Could not see your heart of passion, 
Could not see your youth immortal ; 
Only Oweenee, the faithful, 
Saw your naked heart and loved you. 

" ' In the lodge that glimmers yonder 
In the little star that twinkles 
Through the vapors, on the left hand, 
Lives the envious Evil Spirit, 
The Wabeno, the magician, 
Who transformed you to an old mnn. 
Take heed lest his beams fall on you, 
For the rays he darts around him 



THE SON OF THE EVENING STAR. 



227 



Are the power of his enchantment, 
Are the arrows that he uses.' 

" Many years, in peace and quiet, 
On the peaceful Star of Evening 
Dwelt Osseo with his father ; 
Many years, in song and flutter, 
At the doorway of the wigwam, 
Hung the cage with rods of silver, 
And fair Oweenee, the faithful, 
Bore a son unto Osseo, 
With the beauty of his mother, 
With the courage of his father. 

" And the boy grew up and prospered, 
And Osseo, to delight him, 
Made him little bows and arrows, 
Opened the great cage of silver, 
And let loose his aunts and uncles, 
All those birds with glossy feathers, 
For his little son to shoot at. 

" Round and round they wheeled and 
darted, 
Filled the Evening Star with music, 
With their songs of joy and freedom ; 
Filled the Evening Star with splendor, 
With the fluttering of their plumage ; 
Till the boy, the little hunter, 
Bent his bow and shot an arrow, 
Shot a swift and fatal arrow, 
And a bird, with shining feathers, 
At his feet fell wounded sorely. 

"But, O wondrous transformation ! 
'T was no bird he saw before him, 
'T was a beautiful young woman, 
With the arrow in her bosom ! 

" When her blood fell on the planet, 
On the sacred Star of Evening, 
Broken was the spell of magic, 
Powerless was the strange enchantment, 
And the youth, the fearless bowman, 
Suddenly felt himself descending, 
Held by unseen hands, but sinking 
Downward through the empty spaces, 
Downward through the clouds and va- 
pors, 
Till he rested on an island, 
On an island, green and grassy, 
Yonder in the Big-Sea-Water. 

"After him he saw descending 
All the birds with shining feathers, 
Fluttering, falling, wafted downward, 
Like the painted leaves of Autumn ; 
And the lodge w r ith poles of silver, 
With its roof like wings of beetles, 
Like the shining shards of beetles, 



By the winds of heaven uplifted, 
Slowly sank upon the island, 
Bringing back the good Osseo, 
Bringing Oweenee, the faithful. 

" Then the birds, again transfigured, 
Reassumed the shape of mortals, 
Took their shape, but not their stat- 
ure ; 
They remained as Little People, 
Like the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies, 
And on pleasant nights of Summer, 
When the Evening Star was shining, 
Hand in hand they danced together 
On the island's craggy headlands, 
On the sand-beach low and level. 

" Still their glittering lodge is seen 
there, 
On the tranquil Summer evenings, 
And upon the shore the fisher 
Sometimes hears their happy voices, 
Sees them dancing in the starlight ! " 

When the story was completed, 
When the wondrous tale was ended, 
Looking round upon his listeners, 
Solemnly Iagoo added : 
" There are great men, I have known 

such, 
Whom their people understand not, 
Whom they even make a jest of, 
Scoff and jeer at in derision. 
From the story of Osseo 
Let us learn the fate of jesters ! " 

All the wedding guests delighted 
Listened to the marvellous story, 
Listened laughing and applauding, 
And they whispered to each other : 
" Does he mean himself, I wonder? 
And are we the aunts and uncles?" 

Then again sang Chibiabos, 
Sang a song of love and longing, 
In those accents sweet and tender, 
In those tones of pensive sadness, 
Sang a maiden's lamentation 
For her lover, her Algonquin. 

" When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved, 
When my heart is thinking of him, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" Ah me ! when I parted from him, 
Round my neck he hung the wampum, 
As a pledge, the snow-white wampum, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" I will go with you, he whispered, 
Ah me ! to your native country ; 



223 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA. 



Let me go with you, he whispered, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

"Far away, away, I answered, 
Very far away, I answered, 
Ah me ! is my native country, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" When I looked back to behold him, 
Where we parted, to behold him, 
After me he still was gazing, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" By the tree he still was standing, 
By the fallen tree was standing, 
That had dropped into the water, 
O mv sweetheart, my Algonquin ! 

" When I think of my beloved, 
Ah me ! think of my beloved. 
When my heart is thinking of him, 
O my sweetheart, my Algonquin 

Such was Hiawatha's Weddin 
Such the dance of Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Such the story of Iagoo, 
Such the songs of Chibiabos ; 
Thus the wedding banquet ended, 
And the wedding guests departed, 
Leaving Hiawatha happy 
With the night and Minnehaha. 

XIII. 

BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS. 

Sing, Song of Hiawatha, 

Of the happy clays that followed, 

In the land of the Ojibways, 

In the pleasant land and peaceful ! 

Sing the mysteries of Mondamin, 

Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields ! 

Buried was the bloody hatchet, 
Buried was the dreadful war-club, 
Buried were all warlike weapons, 
And the war-cry was forgotten. 
There was peace among the nations ; 
Unmolested roved the hunters, 
Built the birch-canoe for sailing. 
Caught the fish in lake and river, 
Shot the deer and trapped the beaver ; 
Unmolested worked the women, 
Made their sugar from the maple, 
Gathered wild rice in the meadows, 
Dressed the skins of deer and beaver. 

All around the happy village 
Stood the maize-fieids, green and shin- 
in?, 
"V\ aved the green plumes of Mondamin, 
Waved his soft and sunny tresses, 



Filling all the land with plenty. 
'T was the women who in Spring-time 
Planted the broad fields and fruitful, 
Buried in the earth Mondamin ; 
'T was the women who in Autumn 
Stripped the yellow husks of harvest. 
Stripped the garments from Mondamin, 
Even as Hiawatha taught them. 

Once, when all the maize was planted, 
Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful, 
Spake and said to Minnehaha, 
To his wife, the Laughing Water : 
"You shall bless to-night the cornfields, 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
To protect them from destruction, 
Blast of mildew, blight of insect, 
Wagemin, the thief of cornfields, 
Paimosaid, who steals the maize ear ! 

" In the night, when all is silence, 
In the night, when all is darkne 
When the Spirit of Sleep, V ahwin, 
Shuts the doors of all the wigwams, 
So that not an ear can hear you, 
So that not an eye can see yon, 
Rise up from your bed in silence, 
Lay aside your garments wholly. 
Walk around the fields you planted, 
Round the borders of the cornfields, 
Covered by your tresses only, 
Robed with darkness as a garment. 

" Thus the fields shall be more fruit- 
ful, 
And the passing of your footsteps 
Draw a magic circle round them, 
So that neither blight nor mildc 
Neither burrowing worm nor insect, 
Shall pass o'er the magic circle ; 
Not the dragon-fly. Kwo-ne-she, 
Nor the spider, Subbekashe, 
Nor the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keene, 

r the mighty caterpillar, 
Way-muk -kwana, with the bear-skin, 
King of all the caterpillar 

1 n the tree-tops near the cornfields 
Sat the hungry crows and ravei 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
With his band of black marauders. 
And they laughed at Hiawatha, 
Till the tree-n ok with laughter, 

With their melancholy laughter 
Al the words of Hiawatha, 
" Hear him ! " said they ; "hear the 

Wise Man, 
Hear the plots of Hiawatha 1 " 



BLESSING THE CORNFIELDS. 



22g 



When the noiseless night descended 
Broad and dark o'er field and forest, 
When the mournful Wawonaissa, 
Sorrowing sang among the hemlocks, 
And the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
Shut the doors of all the wigwams, 
From her bed rose Laughing Water, 
Laid aside her garments wholly, 
And with darkness clothed and guarded 
Unashamed and unaffrighted, 
Walked securely round the cornfields, 
Drew the sacred, magic circle 
Of her footprints round the cornfields, 

No one but the Midnight only 
Saw her beauty in the darkness, 
No one but the Wawonaissa 
Heard the panting of her bosom ; 
Guskewau. the darkness, wrapped her 
Closely in his sacred mantle, 
So that none might see her beauty, 
So that none might boast, " I saw her ! " 

On the morrow, as the day dawned, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Gathered all his black marauders, 
Crows and blackbirds, jays and ravens, 
Clamorous on the dusky tree-tops, 
And descended, fast and fearless, 
On the fields of Hiawatha, 
On the grave of the Mondamin. 

" We will drag Mondamin, ' ' said they, 
" From the grave where he is buried, 
Spite of all the magic circles 
Laughing Water draws around it, 
Spite of all the sacred footprints 
Minnehaha stamps upon it ! " 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Ever thoughtful, careful, watchful, 
Had o'erheard the scornful laughter 
When they mocked him from the tree- 
tops. 
" Kaw ! " he said, "my friends the 

ravens ! 
Kahgahgee, my King of Ravens ! 
I will teach you all a lesson 
That shall'not be soon forgotten ! " 

He had risen before the daybreak, 
He had spread o'er all the cornfields 
Snares to catch the black marauders, 
And was lying now in ambush 
In the neighboring grove of pine-trees, 
Waiting for the crows and blackbirds, 
Waiting for the jays and ravens. 

Soon taey came with caw and clamor, 
Rush of wings and cry of voices, 



To their work of devastation. 
Settling down upon the cornfields, 
Delving deep with beak and talon, 
For the body of Mondamin. 
And with all their craft and cunning, 
All their skill in wiles of warfare, 
They perceived no danger near them, 
Till their claws became entangled, 
Till they found themselves imprisoned 
In the snares of Hiawatha. 

From his place of ambush came he, 
Striding terrible among them, 
And so awful was his aspect 
That the bravest quailed with terror. 
Without mercy he destroyed them 
Right and left, by tens and twenties, 
And their wretched, lifeless bodies 
Hung aloft on poles for scarecrows 
Round the consecrated cornfields, 
As a signal of his vengeance, 
As a warning to marauders. 

Only Kahgahgee, the leader, 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
He alone was spared among them 
As a hostage for his people. 
With his prisoner-string he bound him, 
Led him captive to his wigwam, 
Tied him fast with cords of elm-bark 
To the ridge-pole of his wigwam. 

" Kahgahgee, my raven ! " said he, 
" You the leader of the robbers, 
You the plotter of this mischief, 
The contriver of this outrage, 
I will keep you, I will hold you, 
As a hostage for your people, 
As a pledge of good behavior ! " 

And he left him, grim and sulky, 
Sitting in the morning sunshine 
On the summit of the wigwam, 
Croaking fiercely his displeasure, 
Flapping his great sable pinions, 
Vainly struggling for his freedom, 
Vainly calling on his people ! 

Summer passed, and Shawondasse 
Breathed his sighs o'er all the landscape, 
From the South-land sent his ardors, 
Wafted kisses warm and tender ; 
And the maize-field grew and ripened, 
Till it stood in all the splendor 
Of its garments green and yellow, 
Of its tassels and its plumage. 
And the maize-ears full and shining 
Gleamed from bursting sheaths of ver- 
dure. 



230 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



Then Nokomis, the old woman, 
Spake, and said to Minnehaha : 
" 'T is the Moon whenleavesare falling ; 
All the wild-rice has been gathered, 
And the maize is ripe and ready ; 
Let us gather in the harvest, 
Let us wrestle with Mondamin, 
Strip him of his plumes and tassels, 
Of his garments green and yellow ! " 

And the merry Laughing Water 
Went rejoicing from the wigwam, 
With Nokomis, old and wrinkled, 
And they called the women round them, 
Called the young men and the maidens, 
To the harvest of the cornfields, 
To the husking of the maize-ear. 

On the border of the forest, 
Underneath the fragrant pine-trees, 
Sat the old men and the warriors 
Smoking in the pleasant shadow. 
In uninterrupted silence 
Looked they at the gamesome labor 
Of the young men and the women ; 
Listened to their noisy talking, 
To their laughter and their singing, 
Heard them chattering like the magpies, 
Heard them laughing like the blue-jays, 
Heard them singing like the robins. 

And whene'er some lucky maiden 
Found a red ear in the husking, 
Found a maize-ear red as blood is, 
11 Nushka ! " cried they all together, 
" Nushka ! you shall have a sweetheart, 
You shall have a handsome husband ! " 

:h ! " the old men all responded 
From their seats beneath the pine-trees. 

And whene'er a youth or maiden 
Found a crooked ear in husking, 
Found a maize-ear in the husking 
Blighted, mildewed, or misshapen, 
Then they laughed and sang together, 
Crept and limped about the cornfields, 
Mimicked in their gait and gestures 
Some old man, bent almost double, 
Singing singly or together : 
" Wagemin, the thief of cornfields ! 
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear ! " 

Till the cornfields rang with laughter, 
Till from Hiawatha's wigwam 
Kahgahgee, the King of Ravens, 
Screamed and quivered in his anger, 
And from all the neighboring tree-tops 
Cawed and croaked the black maraud- 
ers. 



" Ugh ! " the old men all responded, 
From their seats beneath the pine-trees ! 

XIV. 

PICTURE-WRITING. 

In those days said Hiawatha, 

" Lo ! how all things fade and perish ! 

From the memory of the old men 

Pass away the great traditions, 

The achievements of the warriors, 

The adventures of the hunters, 

All the wisdom of the Medas, 

All the craft of the Wabenos, 

All the marvellous dreams and visions 

Of the Jossakeeds, the Prophets ! 

"Great men die and are forgotten, 
Wise men speak ; their words of wisdom 
Perish in the ears that hear them, 
Do not reach the generations 
That, as yet unborn, are waiting 
In the great, mysterious darkness 
Of the speechless days that shall be ! 

"On the grave-posts of our fathers 
Are no signs, no figures painted ; 
Who are in those graves we know not, 
Only know they are our fathers. 
Of what kith they are and kindred, 
From what old, ancestral Totem, 
Be it Eagle, Bear, or Beaver, 
They descended, this we know not, 
Only know they are our fathers. 

" Face to face we speak together, 
But we cannot speak when absent, 
Cannot send our voices from us 
To the friends that dwell afar off; 
Cannot send a secret message, 
But the bearer learns our secret, 
May pervert it, may betray it, 
May reveal it unto others. 

Thus said Hiawatha, walking ■ 
In the solitary forest, 
Pondering, musing in the forest, 
On the welfare of his people. 

From his pouch he took his colors, 
Took his paints of different colors, 
On the smooth bark of a birch-tree 
Painted many shapes and figures, 
Wonderful and mystic figun 
And each figure had a meaning. 
Each some word or thought suggested. 

Gitche Manito the Mighty, 
He, the Master of Life, was painted 
As an egg, with points projecting 






PICTURE- WRITING. 



23* 






To the four winds of the heavens. 
Everywhere is the Great Spirit, 
Was the meaning of this symbol. 

Mitche Manito the Mighty, 
He the dreadful Spirit of Evil, 
As a serpent was depicted, 
As Kenabeek, the great serpent 
Very crafty, very cunning. 
Is the creeping Spirit of Evil, 
Was the meaning of this symbol. 

Life and Death he drew as circles, 
Life was white, but Death was dark- 
ened ; 
Sun and moon and stars he painted, 
Man and beast, and fish and reptile, 
Forests, mountains, lakes, and rivers. 

For the earth he drew a straight line, 
For the sky a bow above it ; 
White the space between for day-time, 
Filled with little stars for night-time ; 
On the left a point for sunrise, 
On the right a point for sunset, 
On the top a point for noontide, 
And for rain and cloudy weather 
Waving lines descending from it. 

Footprints pointing towards a wigwam 
Were a sign of invitation, 
Were a sign of guests assembling ; 
Bloody hands with palms uplifted 
Were a symbol of destruction, 
Were a hostile sign and symbol. 

All these things did Hiawatha 
Show unto his wondering people, 
And interpreted their mean: 
And he said : '' Behold, your grave- 
posts 
Have no mark, no sign, nor symbol. 
Go and paint them all with figures ; 
Each one with its household symbol, 
With its own ancestral Totem 
So that those who follow after 
May distinguish them and know them." 

And they painted on the grave-posts 
On the graves yet un forgotten. 
Each his own ancestral Totem, 
Each the symbol of his household ; 
Figures of the Bear and Reindeer, 
Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver, 
Each inverted as a token 
That the owner was departed, 
That the chief who bore the symbol 
Lay beneath in dust and ashes. 

And the Jossakeeds, the Prophets, 
The Wabenos, the Magicians, 



And the Medicine-men, the Medas, 
Painted upon bark and deer-skin 
Figures for the songs they chanted, 
For each song a separate symbol, 
Figures mystical and awful, 
Figures strange and brightly colored ; 
And each figure had its meaning, 
Each some magic song suggested. 

The Great Spirit, the Creator. 
Flashing light through all the heaven ; 
The Great Serpent, the Kenabeek, 
With his bloody crest erected, 
Creeping, looking into heaven ; 
In the sky the sun, that listens, 
And the moon eclipsed and dying ; 
Owl and eagle, crane and hen-hawk, 
And the cormorant, bird of marie ; 
Headless men, that walk the heavens, 
Bodies lying pierced with arrows, 
Bloody hands of death uplifted, 
Flags on graves, and great war-captains 
Grasping both the earth and heaven ! 

Such as these the shares they painted 
On the birch-bark and the deer-skin ; 
Songs of war and songs of hunting, 
Sengs, of medicine and of magic. 
All were written in these f.gures, 
For each figure had its meaning, 
Each its separate song recorded. 

Nor forgotten was the Love- Seng, 
The most subtle of ail medicines, 
The most potent spell of magic. 
Dangerous more than war or hunting ! 
Thus the Love- Song was recorded, 
Symbol and interpretation. 

First a human figure standing, 
Painted in the brightest scarlet ; 
T is the lover, the musician, 
And the meaning is, " My painting 
Makes me powerful over others." 

Then the figure seated, singing, 
Playing on a drum of magic, 
And the interpretation, l 'L: = 
'T is my voice you hear, my singing '. " 

Then the same red figure seated 
In the shelter of a wigwam. 
And the meaning of the symbol, 
'• I will come and sit beside you 
In the mystery of my passion '. " 

Then two figures, man and woman, 
Standing hand in hand together 
With their hands so clasped together 
That they seem in one united. 
And the words thus represented 



232 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



Are, " I see your heart within you, 
And your cheeks are red with blushes ! " 

Next the maiden on an island, 
In the centre of an island ; 
And the song this shape suggested 
Was, " Though you were at a distance, 
Were upon some far-off island, 
Such the spell I cast upon you, 
Such the magic power of passion, 
I could straightway draw you to me ! " 

Then the figure of the maiden 
Sleeping, and the lover near her. 
Whispering to her in her slumbers, 
Saying, " Though you were far from me 
In the land of Sleep and Silence, 
Still the voice of love would reach you !" 

And the last of all the figures 
Was a heart within a circle, 
Drawn within a magic circle ; 
And the image had this meaning : 
" Naked lies your heart before me, 
To your naked heart I whisper ! " 

Thus it was that Hiawatha, 
In his wisdom, taught the people 
All the mysteries of painting, 
All the art of Picture- Writing, 
On the smooth bark of the birch-tree, 
On the white skin of the reindeer, 
On the grave-posts of the village. 

XV. 

hiawatha's lamentation. 

In those days the Evil Spirits, 
All the Manitos of mischief, 
Fearing Hiawatha's wisdom, 
And his love for Chibiabos, 
Jealous of their faithful friendship, 
And their noble words and actions, 
Made at length a league against them, 
To molest them and destroy them. 

Hiawatha, wise and wary, 
Often said to Chibiabos, 
" my brother ! do not leave me, 
Lest the Evil Spirits harm vou ! " 
Chibiabos, young and heedless, 
Laughing shook his coal-black tresses, 
Answered ever sweet and childlike, 
4i Do not fear for me, O brother ! 
Harm and evil come not near me ! " 

Once when Peboan, the Winter, 
Roofed with ice the Big-Sea-Water, 
When the snow-flakes, whirling down- 
ward, 



Hissed among the withered oak-leaves, 
Changed the pine-trees into wigwams, 
Covered all the earth with silence, — 
Armed with arrows, shod with snow- 
shoes, 
Heeding not his brother's warning, 
Fearing not the Evil Spirits, 
Forth to hunt the deer with antlers 
All alone went Chibiabos. 

Right across the Big-Sea- Water 
Sprang with speed the deer before him. 
With the wind and snow he followed, 
O'er the treacherous ice he followed, 
Wild with all the fierce commotion 
And the rapture of the hunting. 

But beneath, the Evil Spirits 
Lay in ambush, waiting for him, 
Broke the treacherous ice beneath him, 
Dragged him downward to the bottom, 
Buried in the sand his body. 
Unktahee, the god of water, 
He the god of the Dacotahs, 
Drowned him in the deep abysses 
Of the lake of Gitche Gumee. 

from the headlands Hiawatha 
Sent forth such a wail of anguish, 
Such a fearful lamentation, 
That the bison paused to listen, 
And the wolves howled from the prai- 
rie 
And the thunder in the distance 
Starting answered " Baim-wawa !" 

Then his face with black he painted, 
With his robe his head he covered, 
In his wigwam sat lamenting, 
Seven long weeks he sat lamenting, 
Uttering still this moan of sorrow : — 

" He is dend, the sweet musician 1 
He tl.e sweetest of all singers ! 
He has gone from us forever, 
He has moved a little nearer 
To the Master of all music, 
To the Master o r all singing ! 
O my brother, Chibiabos ! " 

And the melancholy fir-trees 
Waved their dark green fans above him, 
Waved their purple cones above him, 
Sighiir; with him to console him, 
Mingling with his lamentation 
Their complaining, their lamenting. 

Came the Spring, and all the forest 
Looked in vain for Chibiabos ; 
Sighed the rivulet. Sebowisha, 
Sighed the rushes in the meadow. 



HI A WA THA 'S LA ME XT A TIOX. 



233 



From the tree-tops sang the bluebird, 
Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
" Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 
He is dead, the sweet musician ! " 

From the wigwam sang the robin, 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
" Chibiabos ! Chibiabos ! 
He is dead, the s singer ! " 

d at night through ail the fort": 
Went the whippoorwilj complaining, 
Wailing went the Wawonaissa, 
ii Chibiabos ! Chibiabos '. 
He is dead, the sweet musician ! 
He the sweetest of all singers ! " 

Then the medicine-men, the Medas, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the Jossakeeds, the prophets, 
Came to visit Hiawatha ; 
Built a Sacred Lodge beside him, 
To appease him, to console him, 
Walked in si] exit, grave procession, 
Bearing each a pouch of healing, 

in of beaver, lynx, or otter, 
Filled with magic roots and simples, 
Filled with very potent medicine 

When he heard their steps approach- 
Hiawatha ceased lamenting, 
Called no more on Chibiabos ; 
Naught he questioned, naught he an- 
swered. 
But his mournful head uncovered, 
From his face the mourning colors 
Washed he slowly and in silence, 
Slowly and in silence followed 
Onward to the Sacred Wigwam. 

There a magic drink they gave him, 
Made of Xahma- aimint, 

And Wabeno-wusk. the yarrow, 
Roots of power, and herbs of healing ; 
Beat their drums, and shook their rat- 
tles : 
Chanted singly and in chorus. 
Mystic songs like these, they chanted. 

' : I myself, myself! behold me ! 
'T is the great Gray Eagle talkine ; 
Come, ye white crows, come and hear 

him I 
The loud-speaking thunder helps me ; 
All the unseen spirits help me ; 
I can hear their voices callr 
All around the sky I hear them ! 
I can blow you strong, my brother, 
I can heal you, Hiawatha ! " 



" Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus, 
' ; Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. 

'"Friends of mine are ail the ser 
Hear me shake my skin of hen-hav 
Mahng, the white loon, I can kill him; 
I can shoot your heart and kill it ! 
I can blow you strong, my brother, 
1 can heal you, Hiawatha '. " 

" Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus. 
;i Way-ha-way ! " the mystic chorus. 

"• I myself, myself! the prophe 
When I speak the wigwam tremble". 
Shakes the Sacred Lodge with terror, 
Hands unseen begin to shake it 
When I walk, the sky I tread on 
Bends and makes a noise beneath me ! 
I can blow you strong, my brother ! 
Rise and speak. O Hiawatha 

" Hi-au-ha ! " replied the chorus, 
" Way-ha-way !" the mystic chorus. 

Then they shook their medicine- 
pouch 
O'er the head of Hiawatha, 
Danced their medicine-dance around 

him ; 
And upstarting wild and haggard. 
Like a man from dreams awakened, 
He was healed of ail his madness. 
As the clouds are swept from heaven, 
Straightway from his brain departed 
All his moody melanchoh 
As the ice is swept from rivers, 

ay from his heart departed 
All his sorrow and affliction. 

Then they summoned Chibiabos 
From his grave beneath the waters, 
From the sands of Gitche Gumee 
Summoned Hiawatha's brother. 
And so mighty was the magic 
Of that cry and invocation, 
That he heard it as he lay there 
Lnderneath the Big- Sea- Water ; 
From the sand he rose and listened, 
Heard the music and the singing, 
Came, obedient to the summons, 
To the doorway of the wigwam, 
But to enter they forbade him. 

Through a chink a coal they gave him, 
Through the door a burning fire-brand ; 
Ruler in the Land of Spirits, 
Ruler o'er the dead, they made him, 
Telling him a fire to kindle 
For all those that died thereafter. 
Camp-fires for their night encampme:::s 



234 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA. 



On their solitary journey- 
To the kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the land of the Hereafter. 

From the village of his childhood. 
From the homes of those who knew him, 
Passing silent through the forest. 
Like a smoke-wreath wafted sideways, 
Slowly vanished Chibiabos ! 
Where he passed, the branches moved 

not, 
Where he trod, the grasses bent not, 
And the fallen leaves of last year 
Made no sound beneath his footsteps. 

Four whole days he journeyed onward 
Down the pathway of the dead men : 
On the dead-man's strawberry feasted, 
Crossed the melancholy river, 
On the swinging log he crossed it, 
Came unto the Lake of Silver, 
In the Stone Canoe was carried 
To the Islands ot the Blessed, 
To the land of ghosts and shadows. 

( ho that journey, moving slowly, 
•iy weary spirits saw he, 
Panting under heavy burdens. 
Laden with war-clubs, bow sand arrows, 
Robes of fur, and pots and kett' 
And with food that friends had given 
For that solitary journey. 

" Ay ! why do the living," said they, 
" Lay such heavy burdens on us ! 
Better were it to go naked, 

;er were it to BO fasti. 
Than to bear such heavy burdens 
( >n our long and weary journey ! " 

Forth then issued Hiawatl 
Wandered eastward, wandered west- 
ward, 
Teaching men the use of simples 
And the antidotes for poisons, 
And the cure of all diseases. 
Thus was first made known to mortals 
All the mysterj oi Vfedamin, 
All the sacred art of healing. 

XVI. 

PAU-Pt'K-KEFAVIS. 

You shall hear how Pau Puk-Keewis, 
He, the handsome Yenadizze, 
Whom the people called the Storm 
Fool, 
id the village with disturbance ; 
You shall hear of all his mischief, 



And his flight from Hiawatha, 
And his wondrous transmigrations, 
And the end of his adventures. 

On the shores ofGitche Gumee, 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water 
Stood the lodge of Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
It was he who in his frenzy 
Whirled these drifting sands together, 
On the dunes of Nagon Wudjoo, 
When, among the guests assembled, 
He so merrily and madly 
Danced at Hiawatha's wedding, 
Danced the Beggar's Dance to please 
them. 

Now, in search of new adventures. 
From his lodge went Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Came with speed into the villa?. 
Found the young men all assembled 
In the lodge ot old lagoo, 
Listening to his monstrous stories, 
To his wonderful adventures. 

He was telling them the story 
OfOjeeg, the Summer-Maker, 
How he made a hole in hea\ 
How he climbed up into heaven, 
d let out the summer-weather, 
Thi easam Summei : 

I low the < >tter first essayed it ; 
How the Heaver, Lynx, and Badger 
Tried in turn the ment, 

From the summit of the mountain 
Smote their fists against the heavens, 
Smote against the sky their foreheads, 
Cracked the sky, but could not break it ; 
Hew the Wolverine, uprising, 
Made him ready for the encounter, 
I'm nt his knees down, like a squinel, 
w his arms back, like a eric! 
'nee he leaped." said old I.i. 
" ( >n( c he leaped, and lo ! above him 

i the sky, as ice in ri\ 
When the wa e beneath it ; 

Twice he leaped, and lo e him 

Cracked the sky, as ice in in 
When the freshet is at highest .' 
I'll rice he leaped, and lo ! above him 
Broke the shattered sky asunder, 
And he di ~rd within it, 

And Ojeeg, the Fisher Wea 
W;tli a bound went in behind him ' 

"Hark you!" shouted Pau-Puk- 
I .eewis 
As he entered at the doorway ; 



PA U-PUK-KEEWIS. 



235 



" I am tired of all this talking, 
Tired of old Iagoo's stories, 
Tired of Hiawatha's wisdom. 
Here is something to amuse you, 
Better than this endless talking." 

Then from out his pouch of wolf-skin 
Forth he drew, with solemn manner, 
All the game of Bowl and Counters, 
Pugasaing, with thirteen pieces. 
White on one side were they painted, 
And vermilion on the other ; 
Two Kenabeeks or great serpents, 
Two Ininewug or wedge-men, 
One great war-club, Pugamaugun, 
And one slender fish, the Keego, 
Four round pieces, Ozawabeeks, 
And three Sheshebwug or ducklings. 
All were made of bone and painted, 
All except the Ozawabeeks ; 
These were brass, onone side burnished, 
"And were black upon the other. 

In a wooden bowl he placed them, 
Shook and jostled them together, 
Threw them on the ground before him. 
Thus exclaiming and explaining : 
" Red side up are all the pieces, 
And one great Kenabeek standing 
On the bright side of a brass piece, 
On a burnished Ozawabeek; 
Thirteen tens and eight are counted." 

Then again he shook the pieces, 
Shook and jostled them together, 
Threw them on the ground before him, 
Still exclaiming and explaining : 
" White are both the great Kenabeeks, 
White the Ininewug, the wedge-men, 
Red are all the other pieces ; 
Five tens and an eight are counted." 

Thus he taught the game of hazard, 
Thus displayed it and explained it, 
Running through its various chances, 
Various changes, various meanings : 
Twenty curious eyes stared at him, 
Full of eagerness stared at him. 

" Many games," said old Iagoo, 
" Many games of skill and hazard 
Have I seen in different nations, 
Have I played in different countries. 
He who plays with old Iagoo 
Must have very nimble fingers ; 
Though you think yourself so skilful, 
I can beat you, Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
I can even give you lessons 
In your game of Bowl and Counters ! " 



So they sat and played together, 
All the old men and the young men, 
Played for dresses, weapons, wampum, 
Played till midnight, played till morn- 
ing, ; 
Played until the Yenadizze, 
Till the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Of their treasures had despoiled them, 
Of the best of all their dresses, 
Shirts of deer-skin, robes of ermine, 
Belts of wampum, crests of feathers, 
Warlike weapons, pipes and pouches. 
Twenty eyes glared wildly at him, 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at him. 

Said the lucky Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
" In my wigwam I am lonely, 
In my wanderings and adventures 
I have need of a companion, 
Fain would have a Meshinauwa, 
An attendant and pipe-bearer. 
I will venture all these winnings, 
All these garments heaped about me, 
All this wampum, all these feathers, 
On a single throw will venture 
All against the young man yonder ! " 
'T was a youth of sixteen summers, 
'T was a nephew of Iagoo ; 
Face-in-a-Mist, the people called him. 

As the fire burns in a pipe-head 
Dusky red beneath the ashes, 
So beneath his shaggy eyebrows 
Glowed the eyes of old Iagoo. 
" Ugh ! " he answered very fiercely ; 
Ugh ! ' ' they answered all and each one. 
Seized the wooden bowl the old man, 
Closely in his bony fingers 
Clutched the fatal bowl, Onagon, 
Shook, it fiercely and with fury, 
Made the pieces ring together 
As he threw them down before him. 

Red were both the great Kenabeeks, 
Red the Ininewug, the wedge-men. 
Red the Sheshebwug, the ducklings, 
Black the four brass Ozawabeeks, 
White alone the fish, the Keego ; 
Only five the pieces counted ! 

Then the smiling Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Shook the bowl and threw the pieces ; 
Lightly in the air he tossed them, 
And they fell about him scattered ; 
Dark and bright the Ozawabeeks, 
Red and white the other pieces, 
And upright among the others 
One Ininewug was standing, 



236 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA, 



Even as crafty Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Stood alone among the players, 
Saying, " Five tens ! mine the game is I" 

Twenty eyes glared at him fiercely, 
Like the eyes ot wolves glared at him, 
As he turned and left the wigwam, 
Followed by his Meshinauwa, 
By the nephew ot lagoo, 

the tall and graceiul stripling, 
Bearing in his arms the winning 
Shirts of deer-skin, robes ot ermine, 
Beits ot wampum, pipes and weapons. 

"' Carry them," said Pau-Puk-Kee- 
wis, 
Pointing with his fan of feathers, 
"To my wigwam far to eastward. 
On the dunes of Nagow Wudjoo ! " 

Hot and red with smoke and gambling 
Were the eyes of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
As he came forth to the ireshness 
Of the pleasant Summer morning. 
All the birds were singing gayly, 
All the streamlets flowing swiftly, 
And the heart of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Sang with pleasure as the birds sing, 
Beat with triumph like the Streamlets, 
As he wandered through the villa 
In the early gray of morning, 
With his fan of turkey-featln 
W ith his plumes and tufts of swan's 

down, 
Till he reached the farthest wigwam, 
1 ched the lodge of Hiawatha. 

Silent was it and deserted ; 
me met him at the doom 
No one came to bid him welcome ; 
But the bird> wire singing round it, 
In and out and round the doorway, 
Hopping, singing, fluttering, feeding, 
And aloft upon the ridge-pole 
Kahgahgee. the King of Ravens, 
Sat with fiery eyes, and, screaming, 
Flapped his wings at Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Ml are gone ! the IoHtp is empty ! " 
Thus it was spake Pau-Puk Kecwis, 
In his heart resolving mischief; — 
" Cone is wary Hiawatha. 
Gone the sillv Laughing Water, 
• oknmis. the old woman, 
And the lod^e is left unguarded ! " 
the neck he seized the raven, 
Whirled it round him like a rattle, 
I -ike a medicine-pouch he shook it, 
Strangled Kahgahgee, the raven, 



From the ridge-pole of the wigwam 
Lett its lifeless body hanging, 
As an insult to its master, 
As a taunt to Hiawatha. 

With a stealthy step he entered, 
Round the lodge in wild disorder 
Threw the household things about him, 
Piled together in confusion 
Bo wis 01 wood and earthen kettles, 
Robes of buffalo and beaver, 
Skins of otter, lynx, and ermine, 
As an insult to Nokomis, 
As a taunt to Minnehaha. 

Then departed Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Whistling, singing through the forest, 
Whistling gayly to the squim 
Who from hollow boughs above him 
Drooped their acorn-shells upon him, 
Singing gayly to the wood-birds, 
Who from out the leafy darkness 
Answered with a song as merry. 

Then he climbed the rocky headlands, 
Looking o'er the Gitche Gumee, 
Perched himself upon their summit, 
Waiting full of mirth and mischief 
The return of Hiawatha. 

Stretched upon his back he lay there ; 
Far below him plashed the waters, 
Plashed and washed the dream f waters ; 
1 ar above him swam the heavens, 
uu the dizzy, dreamy heavens; 
Round him hovered, fluttered, rustled, 
Hiawatha's mountain chickens, 
Flock-wise swept and wheeled about 

him, 
Almost brushed him with their pinions. 

And he killed them as be 1 iv th< 
Slaughtered them by tens and twenl 
Threw their bodies down the headland, 
Threw them on the beach below him, 

1 II ;it length Kayoshk, the sea-gull, 

Perched upon a crag above them, 
Shouted: " It is Pau-Puk-Keewis 1 

i I e is slaving us by hundreds ! 
Send a me 1 our brother, 

Tidings send to Hiawatha ! " 

XVII. 

THE HUNTING OF rU'lTK-KEEWIS. 

Fori, of wrath was Hiawatha 

When he came into the village, 
I .ind the people in confusion. 
Heard of all the misdemeanors, 



THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 



237 



All the malice and the mischief. 
Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis. 
Hard his breath came through his 
nostrils, 
Through his teeth he buzzed and mut- 
tered 
Words of anger and resentment, 
Hot and humming, like a hornet. 
" I will slay this Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Slay this mischief-maker ! " said he. 
" Not so long and wide the world is, 
Not so rude and rough the way is, 
That my wrath shall not attain him, 
That my vengeance shall not reach 
him!" 
Then in swift pursuit departed 
Hiawatha and the hunters 
On the trail of Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Through the forest, where he passed it, 
To the headlands where he rested ; 
But they found not Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Only in the trampled grasses, 
In the whortleberry-bushes, 
Found the couch where he had rested, 
Found the impress of his body. 

From the lowlands far beneath them, 
From the Muskoday, the meadow, 
Pau-Puk-Keewis, turning backward, 
Made a gesture of defiance, 
Made a gesture of derision ; 
And aloud cried Hiawatha, 
From the summit of the mountain : 
" Not so long and wide the world is, 
Not so rude and rough the way is, 
But my wrath shall overtake you, 
And my vengeance shall attain you ! " 

Over rock and over river, 
Thorough bush, and brake, and forest, 
Ran the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis; 
Like an antelope he bounded, 
Till he came unto a streamlet 
In the middle of the forest, 
To a streamlet still and tranquil, 
That had overflowed its margin, 
To a dam made by the beavers, 
To a pond of quiet water, 
Where knee-deep the trees were stand- 
ing, 
Where the water-lilies floated, 
Where the rushes waved and whispered. 
On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
On the dam of trunks and branches, 
Through whose chinks the water 
spouted, 



O'er whose summit flowed the stream- 
let. 
From the bottom rose a beaver, 
Looked with two great eyes of wonder, 
Eyes that seemed to ask a question, 
At the stranger, Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

On the dam stood Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
O'er his ankles flowed the streamlet, 
Flowed the bright and silvery water, 
And he spake unto the beaver, 
With a smile he spake in this wise : 

" O my friend Ahmeek, the beaver, 
Cool and pleasant is the water ; 
Let me dive into the water, 
Let me rest there in your ledges ; 
Change me, too, into a beaver ! " 

Cautiously replied the beaver, 
With reserve he thus made answer: 
" Let me first consult the others, 
Let me ask the other beavers." 
Down he sank into the water, 
Heavily sank he, as a stone sinks, 
Down among the leaves and branches, 
Brown and matted at the bottom. 

On the dam stocd Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
O'er his ankles f'owed the streamlet, 
Spouted through the chinks below him, 
Dashed upon the stones beneath him, 
Spread serene and calm before him, 
And the sunshine and the shadows 
Fell in flecks and gleams upon him, 
Fell in little shining patches, 
Through the waving, rustling branches. 

From the bottom rose the beavers, 
Silently above the surface 
Rose one head and then another, 
Till the pond seemed full of beavers, 
Full of black and shining faces. 

To the beavers Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Spake entreating, said in this wise : 
" Very pleasant is your dwelling, 
O my friends ! and safe from danger ; 
Can you not with all your cunning, 
All vour wisdom and contrivance, 
Change me, too, into a beaver?" 

" Yes ! " replied Ahmeek, the beaver, 
He the King of all the beavers, 
" Let yourself slide down among us, 
Down into the tranquil water." 

Down into the pond among them 
Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis^ _ 
Black became his shirt of deer-skin, 
Black his moccasins and leggings, 
In a broad black tail behind him 



233 



THE SONG OF HI A IV A THA . 



Spread his fox-tails and his fringes ; 
He was changed into a beaver. 

"Make me large," said Pau-Puk- 
Keewis, 
" Make me large and make me larger, 
Larger than the other beavers." 
" Yes," the beaver chief responded, 
" When our lodge below you enter, 
In our wigwam we will make you 
Ten times larger than the others." 

Thus into the clear, brown water 
Silently sank Pau-Puk-Keewis ; 
Found the bottom covered over 
With the trunks of trees and branches, 
Hoards of food against the winter, 
Piles and heaps against the famine, 
Found the lodge with arching door- 
way, 
Leading into spacious chambers. 

Here they made him large and larger, 
Made him largest of the beavers, 
Ten times larger than the others. 
" You shall be our ruler," said they ; 
"Chief and king of all the beavers." 

But not long had Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Sat in state among the beaw 
When there came a voice of warning 
From the watchman at his station 
In the water-flags and lilies, 
Saying, " Here i > Hiawatha ! 
Hiawatha with his hunter 

Then they heard a cry above them, 
Hearcl a shouting and a tramping, 
Heard a crashing ar.d a rushing, 

the water round and o'er them 
Sank and Bucked away in eddies, 

I they knew their dam wad broken. 

On the lodge's roof the hunters 
Leaped, and broke it all asunder ; 
Streamed the sunshine through the 

crevice, 
Sprang the beavers through the door- 
way, 
Hid themselves in deeper water, 
In the channel of the streamlet ; 
But the mighty Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Could not pass beneath the doorway ; 
He was puffed with pride and feeding, 
He was swollen tike a bladder. 

Through the roof lookedlliawatha, 
Cried aloud, " O Pau-Puk-Keewis ! 
i are all your craft and cunning, 
Vain your manifold disguises ! 
Well I know you, Pau-Puk-Keewis ! " 



With theirclubs they beat and bruised 
him, 
Beat to death poor Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Pounded him as maize is pounded, 
Till his skull was crashed to pieces. 

Six tail hunters, lithe and limber, 
Bore him home on poles and branches, 
Bore the body of the beaver ; 
But the ghost, the Jeebi in him, 
Thought and felt as Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Still lived on as Pau-Puk-Keewis. 

And it fluttered, strove, and struggled, 
Waving hither, waving thither, 
As the curtains of a wigwam 
Struggle with their thongs of deer-skin, 
When the wintry wind is blowing; 
Till it drew itself together, 
Till it rose up from the body, 
Till it took the form and features 
Of the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Vanishing into the forest. 

But the wary Hiawatha 
Saw the figure ere it vanished, 
Saw the form of Pau-Puk-Keewis 

!e into the soft blue shadow 
( )f the pine-trees of the forest ; 
Toward the squares of white beyond it, 
Toward an opening in the forest, 
Like a wind it rushed and panted, 
Bending all the boughs before it, 
And behind it, as the rain comes, 
Came the steps of Hiawatha. 

To a lake with many islands 
Came the breathless Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Where among the water-lilies 
Pishnekuh, the brant, were sailing; 
Through the tufts of rushes floating, 
Steering through the reedy islands. 
Now their broad blackbeaks they lifted, 
Now they plunged beneath the water, 
Now they darkened in the shadow, 
Now they brightened in the sunshine. 

" Pishnekuh ! " cried Pau-Puk-Kee- 



wis, 



" Pishnekuh ! my brothers ! " said he, 
" Change me to a brant with plum : 
With a shining neck and fcathci 
Make me large, and make me lav 
Ten times larger than the oil; 

Straightway to a brant they changed 
him, 
With two huge and dusky pinions, 
With a bosom smooth and rounded, 
With a bill like two great paddles, 



THE HUNTING OF PAU-PUK-KEEWIS. 



239 



Made him larger than the others, 
Ten times larger than the largest, 
Just as, shouting from the forest, 
On the shore stood Hiawatha. 

Up they rose with cry and clamor, 
With a whir and beat of pinions, 
Rose up from the reedy islands, 
From the water-flags and lilies. 
And they said to Pau-Puk-Keewis : 
"In your flying, look not downward, 
Take good heed, and look not down- 
ward, 
Lest some strange mischance should 

happen, 
Lest some great mishap befall you ! " 

Fast and far they fled to northward, 
Fast and far through mist and sunshine, 
Fed among the moors and fen-lands, 
Slept among the reeds and rushes. 

On the morrow as they journeyed, 
Buoyed and lifted by the South-wind, 
Wafted onward by the South-wind, 
Blowing fresh and strong behind them, 
Rose a sound of human voices, 
Rose a clamor from beneath them, 
From the lodges of a village, 
From the people miles beneath them. 

For the people of the village 
Saw the flock of brant with wonder, 
Saw the wings of Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Flapping far up in the ether, 
Broader than two doorway curtains. 

Pau-Puk-Keewis heard the shouting, 
Knew the voice of Hiawatha, 
Knew the outcry of Iagoo, 
And, forgetful of the warning, 
Drew his neck in, and looked downward, 
And the wind that blew behind him 
Caught his mighty fan of feathers, 
Sent him wheeling, whirling downward ! 

All in vain did Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Struggle to regain his balance ! 
Whirling round and round and down- 
ward, 
He beheld in turn the village 
And in turn the flock above him 
Saw the village coming nearer, 
And the flock receding farther, 
Heard the voices growing louder, 
Heard the shouting and the laughter ; 
Saw no more the ffock above him, 
Only saw the earth beneath him ; 
Dead out of the empty heaven, 
Dead among the shouting people, 



With a heavy sound and sullen, 
Fell the brant with broken pinions. 

But his soul, his ghost, his shadow, 
Still survived as Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Took again the form and features 
Of the handsome Yenadizze, 
And again went rushing onward, 
Followed fast by Hiawatha, 
Crying : " Not so wide the world is, 
Not so long and rough the way is, 
But my wrath shall overtake you, 
But my vengeance shall attain you ! " 

And so near he came, so near him, 
Thathis hand wasstretchedto seize him, 
His right hand to seize and hold him, 
When the cunning Pau-Puk-Keewis 
Whirled and spun about in circles, 
Fanned the air into a whirlwind, 
Danced the dust and leaves about him, 
And amid the whirling eddies 
Sprang into a hollow oak-tree, 
Changed himself into a serpent, 
Gliding out through root and rubbish. 

With his right hand Jrliawatha 
Smote amain the hollow oak-tree, 
Rent it into shreds and splinters, 
Left it lying there in fragments. 
But in vain ; for Pau-Puk-Keewis, 
Once again in human figure, 
Full in sight ran on before him, 
Sped away in gust and whirlwind, 
On the shores of Gitche Gumee, 
Westward by the Big-Sea- Water, 
Came unto the rocky headlands, 
To the Pictured Rocks of sandstone, 
Looking over lake and landscape. 

And the Old Man of the Mountain, 
He the Manito of Mountains, 
Opened wide his rocky doorways, 
Opened wide his deep abysses, 
Giving. Pau-Puk-Keewis shelter 
In his caverns dark and dreary, 
Bidding Pau-Puk-Keewis welcome 
To his gloomy lodge of sandstone. 

There without stood Hiawatha, 
Found the doorways closedagainsthim, 
With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
Smote great caverns in the sandstone, 
Cried aloud in tones of thunder, 
" Open ! I am Hiawatha ! " 
But the Old Man of the Mountain 
Opened not, and made no answer 
From the silent crags of sandstone, 
From the gloomy reck abysses. 



240 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA, 



Then he raised his hands to heaven, 
Called imploring on the tempest, 
Called \\ aywassimo, the lightning, 
And the thunder, Annemeekee ; 
And they came with night and darkness, 
Sweeping down the big- Sea- Water 
From the distant Thunder Mountains ; 
And the trembling Pau-Puk-keewis 
Heard the footsteps of the thunder, 
Saw the red eyes of the lightning, 
Was afraid, and crouched and trembled. 

Then Waywassimo, the lightning, 
Smote the doorways of the caverns, 
With his war-club smote the doorways, 
Smote the jutting crags of sandstone, 
And the thunder, Annemeekee, 
Shouted down into the caverns, 
Saying, " Where is Pau-Puk-keewis!" 
And the crags fell, and beneath them 
Dead among the rocky ruins 
Lay the cunning Pau-Puk-keewis, 
Lay the handsome Yenadizze, 
Slain in his own human figure. 

Ended were hjs wild adventures, 
Ended were his tricks and gambols, 
Ended all his craft and cunning, 
Ended all his mischief-making, 
All his gambling and his dancing, 
All his wooing of the maidens. 

Then the noble Hiawatha 
Took his soul, his ghost, his shadow, 
Spake and said : "<> Pau-Puk-keewis, 
Nevermore in human figure 
Shall you search for new adventures ; 
Nevermore with jest and laughter 
Dance the dust and leaves in whirlwinds; 
But above there in the heavens 
You shall soar and sail in circles ; 
I will change you to an engle, 
To Keneu, the great war 
Chief of all the fowls with feathers, 
Chief of Hiawatha's chicken 

And the name of Pau-Puk-keewis 
Lingers still among the people, 
Lingers still among the singers, 
And among the Story-tell< 
And in Winter, when the snow-flakes 
Whirl in eddies round the lodg< 
When the wind in gusty tumult 
O'er the smoke-flue pipes and whistles, 
"There," they cry, " conies Pau-Puk- 
keewis ; 
He is dancing through the village, 
He is gathering in his harvest ! 



XVIII. 

THE DEATH OF KWASIND. 

Far and wide among the nations 
Spread the name and fame of kwasind ; 
No man dared to strive with kwasind, 
No man could compete with kwasind, 
But the mischievous Puk-Wudjies, 
They the envious Little People, 
They the fairies and the pygmies, 
Plotted and conspired against him. 

" If this hateful kwasind," said they, 
" If this o rca t ? outrageous fellow 
Goes on thus a little longer. 
Tearing everything he touches, 
Rending everything to pieces, 
Filling all the world with wonder, 
What becomes of the Puk- Wudiies ? 
Who will care for the Puk-Wud 
He will tread us down like mushrooms, 
Drive us all into the water. 
Give our bodies to be eaten 
By the wicked Nee ba-naw-baigs, 
By the Spirits of the water ! ' 

So the angry Little People 
All conspired against the Strong Man, 
All conspired to murder Kwasind, 
Yes, to rid the world of kwasind, 
The audacious, overbearing, 
Heartless, haughty, dangerous kwa- 
sind ! 

Now this wondrous strength of kwa- 
sind 
In his crown alone was seated ; 
In his crown too was his weakness ; 
'1 here alone could he be wounded, 
Nowhere else could weapon pierce him, 
Nowhere else could weapon harm him, 

Even there the only weapon 
That could wound him, that could slay 

him, 
Was the seed-cone of the pine-tree, 
Was the blue cone of the fir-tree. 
This was kwasind's fatal secret, 
known to no man among mortals ; 
But the cunning Little People, 
The Puk-Wudjies, knew the secret, 
knew the only way to kill him. 

So they gathered c< n 
( lathered seed-cones of the pine-tree, 
Gathered blue cones of the fir-tree, 
In the woods by Taquamenaw, 
Brought them to the rivei in. 

Heaped them in great piles together. 



THE GHOSTS. 



241 



Where the red rocks from the margin 
Jutting overhang the river. 
There they lay in wait ibr Kwasind, 
The malicious Little People. 

'T was an afternoon in Summer ; 
Very hot and still the air was, 
Very smooth the gliding river, 
Motionless the sleeping shadows : 
Insects glistened in the sunshine, 
Insects skated on the water, 
Filled the drowsy air with buzzing, 
With a far-resounding war-cry. 

Down the river came the Strong Man, 
In his birch-canoe came Kwasind, 
Floating slowly down the current 
Of the sluggish Taquamenaw, 
Very languid with the weather, 
Very sleepy with the silence. 

From the overhanging branches, 
From the tassels of the birch-trees, 
Soft the Spirit of Sleep descended ; 
By his airy hosts surrounded, 
His invisible attendants, 
Came the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin ; 
Like the burnished Dush-kwo-ne-she, 
Like a dragon-fly, he hovered 
O'er the drowsy head of Kwasind. 

To his ear there came a murmur 
As of waves upon a sea-shore, 
As of far-off tumbling waters, 
As of winds among the pine-trees ; 
And he felt upon his forehead 
Blows of little airy war-clubs, 
Wielded by the slumbrous legions 
Of the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin, 
As of some one breathing on him. 

At the first blow of their war-clubs 
Fell a drowsiness on Kwasind ; 
At the second blow they smote him, 
Motionless his paddle rested ; 
At the third, before his vision 
Reeled the landscape into darkness, 
Very sound asleep was Kwasind. 

So he floated down the river, 
Like a blind man seated upright, 
Floated down the Taquamenaw, 
Underneath the trembling birch-trees, 
Underneath the wooded headlands, 
Underneath the war encampment 
Of the pygmies, the Puk-Wudjies. 

There they stood, all armed and wait- 
ing, 
Hurled the pine-cones down upon him, 
Struck him on his brawny shoulders, 

16 



On his crown defenceless struck him. 
" Death to Kwasind ! " was the sudden 
War-cry of the Little People. 

And he sideways swayed and tumbled, 
Sideways fell into the river. 
Plunged beneath the sluggish water 
Headlong, as an otter plunges ; 
And the birch-canoe, abandoned, 
Drifted empty down the river, 
Bottom upward swerved and drifted : 
Nothing more was seen of Kwasind. 

But the memory of the Strong Man 
Lingered long among the people, 
And whenever through the forest 
Raged and roared the wintry tempest, 
And the branches, tossed and troubled, 
Creaked and groaned and split asunder, 
" Kwasind ! " cried they ; " that is 

Kwasind ! 
He is gathering in his fire-wood ! " 

XIX. 

THE GHOSTS. 

Never stoops the soaring vulture 
On his quarry in the desert, 
On the sick or wounded bison, 
But another vulture, watching 
From his high aerial look-out, 
Sees the downward plunge, and follows ; 
And a third pursues the second, 
Coming from the invisible ether, 
First a speck, and then a vulture, 
Till the air is dark with pinions. 

So disasters come not singly ; 
But as if they watched and waited, 
Scanning one another's motions. 
When the first descends, the others 
Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise 
Round their victim, sick and wounded, 
First a shadow, then a sorrow, 
Till the air is dark with anguish. 

Now, o'er all the dreai'y Northland, 
Mighty Peboan, the Winter, 
Breathing on the lakes and rivers, 
Into stone had changed their waters. 
From his hair he shook the snow-flakes, 
Till the plains were strewn with white- 
ness, 
One uninterrupted level, 
As if, stooping, the Creator 
With his hand had smoothed them over. 

Through the forest, wide and wailing, 
Roamed the hunter on his snow-shoes ; 



2 4 2 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA 



In the village worked the women, 
Pounded maize, or dressed the deer- 
skin ; 
And the young men played together 
On ihe ice the noisy ball -play. 
On the plain the dance of snow-shoes. 

One dark evening, after sundown, 
In her wigwam Laughing Water 
Sat with old Xokomis, waiting 
For the steps of Hiawatha 
Homeward from the hunt returning. 

On their faces gleamed the fire-light, 
Painting them with streaks of crim.- 
In the eyes of old Xokomis 
Glimmered like the watery moonlight, 
In the eyes of Laughing Water 
Glistened like the sun in water ; 
And behind them crouched their shad- 
ows 
In the corners of the wigwam, 
And the smoke in wreaths above them 
Climbed and crowded through the 
smoke-flue. 

Then the curtain of the doorway 
From without was slowly lifted ; 

2 liter glowed the fire a moment, 
And a moment swerved the smoke- 
wreath, 
As two women entered softly. 
Passed the doorway uninvited, 
Without word of salutation, 
Without sign of recognition, 

down in the farthest corner, 
Crouching low among the shadows. 

From their aspect and their garments, 
mgers seemed they in the village ; 
Very pale and haggard were they, 
As they sat there sad and silent. 

mhling, cowering with the shadows. 

Was it the wind above the smoke-flue, 
Muttering down into the wigwam ? 

it the owl. the Kol o-koho, 
Hooting from the dismal forest ? 
a voice said in the silence : 
"These are corpses clad in garments, 
These are ghosts t hat come to haunt you, 
From the kingdom of Ponemih, 
From the land of the Hereafter ! " 

Homeward now came Hiawatha 
From his hunting in the forest, 
With the snow upon his tresses, 
And the red deer on his shoulders. 
At the feet of Laughing Water 
Down he threw lus lifeless burden ; 



Nobler, handsomer she thought him, 
Than when first he came to woo her, 
First threw down the deer before her, 
As a token of his wishes, 
As a promise of the future. 

Then he turned and saw the stran- 
gers, 
Cowering, crouching with the shadows; 
Said within himself, " WhoTire ihey? 
What strange guests has Minnehaha ? " 
But he questioned not the strangers, 
Only spake to bid them welcom 
To his lodge, his food, his fireside. 

When the evening meal was ready, 
And the deer had been divided, 
Both the pallid guests, the strangers, 
.Springing from among the shadows. 
Seized upon the choicest portions, 
Seized the white tat of the roebuck, 
Set apart for Laughing Water 
For the wife of Hiawatha ; 
Without asking, without thanking, 
Eagerly devoured the morsels, 
Flitted back among the shadows 
In the corner of the wigwam. 

Not a word spake Hiawatha, 
Not a motion made Nokom 
Not a gesture Laughing Water ; 
Not a change came o'er their features ; 
Only Minnehaha softly 
Whispered, saying, "They are fam- 
ished ; 
them do what best delights them ; 
Let them cat, for they are famished." 

Many a daylight dawned and dark- 
ened, 
Main- a night shook off the daylight 

the pine shakes off the snow tiakes 
From the midnight of its branches; 
Day by day tl ts unmoving 

Sat there silent in the wigwam ; 
But by night, in storm 01 lit, 

Forth they went into the fori 
Bringing lire-wood to the wigwam, 
Bringing pine-cones for the burning, 
Always sad and always silent. 

And whenever Hiawatha 
Came from fishing or from hunting, 
When the evening una! v !y, 

And the food had been divided, 
Gliding from their darksome corner, 
Came the pallid guests, the strangers, 

zed upon the choii rtions 

Set aside for Laughing W 



THE FAMINE. 



243 



And without rebuke or question 
Flitted back among the shadows. 

Never once had Hiawatha 
By a word or look reproved them ; 
Never once had old Nokomis 
Made a gesture of impatience ; 
Never once had Laughing Water 
Shown resentment at the outrage. 
All had they endured in silence, 
That the rights of guest and stranger, 
That the virtue of free-giving, 
By a look might not be lessened, 
By a word might not be broken. 

Once at midnight Hiawatha, 
Ever wakeful, ever watchful, 
In the wigwam, dimly lighted 
By the brands that still, were burning, 
By the glimmering, flickering fire-light, 
Heard a sighing, oft repeated, 
Heard, a sobbing, as of sorrow. 

From his couch rose Hiawatha, 
From his shaggy hides of bison, 
Pushed aside the deer-skin curtain, 
Saw the pallid guests, the shadows, 
Sitting upright on their couches, 
Weeping in the silent midnight. 

And he said : " O guests ! why is it 
That your hearts are so afflicted, 
That you sob so in the midnight ? 
Has perchance the old Nokomis, 
Has my wife, my Minnehaha, 
Wronged or grieved you by unkindness, 
Failed in hospitable duties? " 

Then the shadows ceased from weep- 
ing' 
Ceased from sobbing and lamenting, 

And they said, with gentle voices : 
" We are ghosts of the departed, 
Souls of those who once were with you. 
From the realms of Chibiabos 
Hither have we come to try you, 
Hither have we come to warn you. 

"Cries of grief and lamentation 
Reach us in the Blessed Islands ; 
Cries of anguish from the living, 
Calling back their friends departed, 
Sadden us with useless sorrow. 
Therefore have we come to try you ; 
No one knows us, no one heeds us. 
We are but a burden to you, 
And we see that the departed 
Have no place among the living. 

"Think of this, O Hiawatha! 
Speak of it to all the people, 



That henceforward and forever 
They no more with lamentations 
Sadden the souls of the departed 
In the Islands of the Blessed. 

" Do not lay such heavy burdens 
In the graves of those you bury, 
Not such weight of furs and wampum, 
Not such weight of pots and kettles, 
For the spirits faint beneath them. 
Only give them food to carry, 
Only give them fire to light them. 

" Four days is the spirit's journey 
To the land of ghosts and shadows, 
Four its lonely night encampments ; 
Four times must their fires be lighted. 
Therefore, when the dead are buried, 
Let a fire, as night approaches, 
Four times on the grave be kindled, 
That the soul upon its journey 
May not lack the cheerful fire-light, 
May not grope about in darkness. 

" Farewell, noble Hiawatha ! 
We have put you to the trial, 
To the proof have put your patience, 
By the insult of our presence, 
By the outrage of our actions. 
We have found you great and noble. 
Fail not in the greater trial, 
Faint not in the harder struggle." 

When they ceased, a sudden darkness 
Fell and filled the silent wigwam. 
Hiawatha heard a rustle 
As of garments trailing by him, 
Heard the curtain of the doorway 
Lifted by a hand he saw not, 
Felt the cold breath of the night-air, 
For a moment saw the starlight ; 
But he saw the ghosts no longer. 
Saw no more the wandering spirits 
From the kingdom of Ponemah, 
From the land of the Hereafter. 

XX. 

THE FAMINE. 

O the long and dreary Winter ! 
O the cold and cruel Winter ! 
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
Froze the ice on lake and river, 
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
Through the forest, round the village. 
Hardly from his buried wigwam 



244 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA. 



Could the hunter force a passage ; 
With his mittens and his snow-shoes 
Vainly walked he through the forest, 
Sought for bird or beast and found none, 
Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
In the snow beheld no footprints, 
In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
Fell, and cou'd not rise from weakness, 
Perished there from cold and hunger. 

O the famine and the fever ! 
O the wasting of the famine ! 
O the blasting of the fever ! 
O the wailing of the children ! 

the anguish of the women ! 

All the earth was sick and famished ; 
Hungry was the air around them, 
Hungry was the sky above them, 
And the hungry stars in heaven 
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them ! 

Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
Came two other guest lent 

As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, 
Waited not to be invited, 
Did not parley at the doorway. 
Sat there without word of welcome 
In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow 
At the face of Laughing Water. 

And the foremost said : " Heboid me ! 

1 am Famine, Bukadawin!" 
And the other said : M Behold me ! 
I am Fever, Ahkosewin 

And the lovely Minnehaha 
Shuddered as they looked upon her, 
Shuddered at the words they uttered, 
Lay clown on her bed in silence, 
Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
At the looks they cast upon her, 
At the fearful words they uttered. 

Forth into the empty forest 
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ; 
In his heart was deadly sorrow, 
In his face a stony firmness ; 
( >n his brow the sweat of anguish 
Started, but it froze and fell not. 

Wrapped in furs and armed forhunt- 

"With his mighty bow of ash-tree, 
With his quiver full of arrows, 
"With his mittens, Minjekahw un, 
Into the vast and vacant forest 
On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 
" Gitche Manito the Mighty 1 " 



Cried he with his face uplifted 
In that bitter hour of anguish, 
" Give your children food, O father I 
Give us food, or we must perish ! 
Give me food for Minnehaha, 
For my dying Minnehaha ! " 

Through the far-resounding forest, 
Through the forest vast and vacant 
Rang that cry of desolation, 
But there came no other answer 
Than the echo of his crying, 
Than the echo of the woodlands, 
" Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! " 

All day long roved Hiawatha 
In that melancholy forest. 
Through the shadow of whose thickets, 
In the pleasant days o\ Summer, 
Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, 
He had brought his young wife home- 
ward 
From the land of the Dacotahs ; 
When the birds sang in the thickets, 
And the streamlets laughed and glis- 
tened, 
And the air was full o( fragrance, 
And the lovely Laughing Water 
Said with voice that did not tremble, 
" 1 will follow you, my husband ! " 

In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
With those gloomy guests, that watched 

her, 
With the Famine and the Fever, 
She was lying, the Beloved, 
She the dying Minnehaha. 

'■ Hark I "she said; li I hear a rush- 
ing, 
Hear a roaring and a rushing 
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
Galling to me from a distance !" 

0, my child ! " said old Nokomis, 
" 'T is the night-wind in thepine I 

" look ! " she said ; " oy father 

Standing lonely at his doorw | 

koning to me from hi im 

In the land of the I tacotahs ! " 
" No, my child !" said old Nokomis, 
"'Tis the smoke, that waves and bei 
onsj " 

" \h !" she said. " tin Pauguk 

('.'are upon me in the darkness, 
I can feel his ii 
Clasping mine amid the darkness I 

Hiawatha ! Hiawath 
And the desolate Hiawatha, 



THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT. 



245 



Far away amid the forest, 
Miles away among the mountains, 
Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
Calling to him in the darkness, 
" Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! " 

Over snow-fields waste and pathless, 
Under snow-encumbered branches, 
Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, 
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing : 
" Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! 
Would that I had perished for you, 
Would that I were dead as you are 1 
Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! " 

And he rushed into the wigwam, 
Saw the old Nokomis slowly 
Rocking to and fro and moaning, 
Saw his lovely Minnehaha 
Lying dead and cold before him, 
And his bursting heart within him 
Uttered such a cry of anguish, 
That the forest moaned and shuddered, 
That the very stars in heaven 
Shook and trembled with his anguish. 

Then hesatdown, still and speechless, 
On the bed of Minnehaha, 
At the feet of Laughing Water, 
At those willing feet, that never 
More would lightly run to meet him, 
Nevermore would lightly follow. 

With both hands his face he covered, 
Seven long days and nights he sat there, 
As if in a swoon he sat there, 
Speechless, motionless, unconscious 
Of the daylight or the darkness. 

Then they buried Minnehaha ; 
In the snow a grave they made her, 
In the forest deep and darksome, 
Underneath the moaning hemlocks ; 
Clothed her in her richest garments, 
Wrapped her in her robes of ermine, 
Covered her with snow, like ermine ; 
Thus they buried Minnehaha. 

And at night a fire was lighted, 
On her grave four times was kindled, 
For her soul upon its journey 
To the Islands of the Blessed. 
From his doorway Hiawatha 
Saw it burning in the forest, 
Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks , 
From his sleepless bed uprising, 
From the bed of Minnehaha, 
Stood and watched it at the doorway, 



That it might not be extinguished, 
Might not leave her in the darkness. 

" Farewell ! " said he, " Minnehaha I 
Farewell, O my Laughing Water ! 
All my heart is buried with you, 
Ail my thoughts go onward with you ! 
Ccme not back again to labor, 
Come not back again to suffer, 
Where the, Famine and the- Fever 
Wear the heart and waste the body. 
Soon my task will be completed, 
Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
To the Land of the Hereafter ! " 

XXI. 

THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT. 

In his lodge beside a river, 
Close beside a frozen river, 
Sat an old man, sad and lonely. 
White his hair was as a snow-drift ; 
Dull and low his fire was burning, 
And the old man shook and trembled, 
Folded in his Waubewyon, 
In his tattered white-skin wrapper, 
Hearing nothing but the tempest 
As it roared along the forest, 
Seeing nothing but the snow-storm, 
As it whirled and hissed and drifted. 

All the coals were white with ashes, 
And the fire was slowly dying, 
As a young man, walking lightly, 
At the open doorway entered. 
Red with blood of youth his cheeks were, 
Soft his eyes, as stars in Spring-time, 
Bound his forehead was with grasses, 
Bound and plumed with scented 

grasses ; 
On his lips a smile of beauty, 
Filling all the lodge with sunshine^ 
In his hand a bunch of blossoms 
Filling all the lodge with sweetness. 

"Ah, my son!" exclaimed the old 
. man, 
" Happy are my eyes to see you. 
Sit here on the mat beside me, 
Sit here by the dying embers, 
Let us pass the night together. 
Tell me of your strange adventures, 
Of the lands where you have travelled; 
I will tell you of my prowess, 
Of my many deeds of wonder." 



246 



THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 



From his pouch he drew his peace- 
pipe, 
Very old and strangely fashioned ; 
Made of red stone was the pipe-head, 
And the stem a reed with feathers ; 
Filled the pipe with bark of willow, 
Placed a burning coal upon it, 
Gave it to his guest, the stranger, 
And began to speak in this wise : 

" When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe upon the landscape, 
Motionless are all the rivers, 
Hard as stone becomes the water ! " 

And the young man answered, smil- 
ing : 
" When I blow my breath about me, 
When I breathe upon the landscape, 
Flowers spring up o'er all the meadows, 
Singing, onward rush the rivers ! " 

When I shake my hoary tresses," 
Said the old man darkly frowning, 
"All the land with snow is covered; 
All the leaves from all the branches 
Fall and fade and die and wither, 
For I breathe, and lo ! they are not. 
From the waters and the marshes 
Rise the wild-goose and the heron, 
Ply away to distant regions, 
For I speak, and lo ! they are not. 
And where'er my footsteps wander, 
All the wild beasts of the forest 
Hide themselves in holes and caverns, 
And the earth becomes as llintstone ! " 

" When I shake my Bowing ringlets,"' 
Said the young man, softly laughing, 
" Showers of rain fall warm and wel- 
come, 
Plants lift up their heads rejoicing, 
Back unto their lakes and marshes 
Come the wild-goose and the heron, 
Homeward shoots the arrowy swallow, 
Sing the bluebird and the robin, 
And where'er my footsteps wander, 
All the meadows wave with blossoms, 
All the woodlands ring with music, 
All the trees are dark with foliage ! " 

While theyspake, the nightdeparted : 
From the distant realms of Wabun, 
From his shining lodge of silver, 
Like a warrior robed and painted, 
Came the sun, and said, " Behold me ! 
Gheezis, the great sun, behold me ! " 

Then the old man's tongue was 
speechless 



And the air grew warm and pleasant, 
And upon the wigwam sweetly 
Sang the bluebird and the robin, 
And the stream began to murmur, 
And a scent of growing grasses 
Through the lodge was gently wafted. 

And Segwun, the youthful stranger 
More distinctly in the daylight 
Saw the icy face before him ; 
It was Peboan, the Winter ! 

From his eyes the tears were flowing, 
As from melting lakes the streamlets, 
And his body shrunk and dwindled 
As the shouting sun ascended, 
Till into the air it faded, 
Till into the ground it vanished, 
And the young man saw before him, 
On the hearth-stone of the wigwam, 
Where the fire had smoked and smoul- 
dered, 
Saw the earliest flower of Spring-time, 
Saw the Beauty of the Spring-time, 
Saw the Miskodeed in blossom. 

Thus it was that in the North-land 
After that unheard-of coldness, 
That intolerable Winter, 
Came the Spring with all its splendor, 
All its birds and all its blossoms, 
All its flowers and leaves and grasses. - 

Sailing on the wind to northward, 
Flying in great flocks, like arrows, 
Like huge arrows shot through heaven, 
Passed the swan, the Mahnahbezee, 
Speaking almost as a man speaks ; 
And in long lines waving, bending 
Like a bow-string snapped asunder, 
Came the white goose, Waw-be-wawa ; 
And in pairs, or singly flying, 
Mahng the loon, with clangorous pin- 
ions, 
The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
And the grouse, the Mushkodasa. * 

In the thickets and the meadows 
Piped the bluebird, the Owaissa, 
On the summit of the lodges 
Sang the robin, the Opechee, 
In the covert of the pine-trees 
Cooed the pigeon, the Omemee, 
And the sorrowing Hiawatha, 
Speechless in his infinite sorrow, 
Heard their voices calling to him. 
Went forth from his gloomy doorway, 
Stood and gazed into the heaven, 
Gazed upon the earth and waters. 



HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE. 



247 



From his wanderings far to eastward, 
From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun, 
Homeward now returned lagoo, 
The great traveller, the great boaster, 
Full of new and strange adventures, 
Marvels many and many wonders. 

And the peop^ of the village 
Listened to him as he told them 
Of his marvellous adventures. 
Laughing answered him in this wise : 
" Ugh !■ it is indeed lagoo ! 
No one else beholds such wonders ! " 

He had seen, he said, a water 
Bigger than the Big-Sea-Water, 
Broader than the Gitche Gumee, 
Bitter so that none could drink it ! 
At each other looked the warriors, 
Looked the women at each other, 
Smiled, and said, " It cannot be so ! 
Kaw ! " they said, "it cannot be so ! " 

O'er it, said he, o'er this water 
Came a great canoe with pinions, 
A canoe with wings came flying, 
Bigger than a grove of pine-trees, 
Taller than the tallest tree-tops ! 
And the old men and the women 
Looked „iid tittered at each other ; 
" Kaw ! " they said, "we don't believe 
it!" 

From its mouth, he said, to greet him, 
Came Waywassimo, the lightning, 
Came the thunder, Annemeekee ! 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed aloud at poor lagoo ; 
"Kaw!" they said, "what tales you 
tell us!" 

In it, said he, came a people, 
In the great canoe with pinions 
Came, he said, a hundred warriors ; 
Painted white were all their faces, 
And with hair their chins were covered ! 
And the warriors and the women 
Laughed and shouted in derision, 
Like the ravens on the tree-tops, 
Like the crows upon the hemlocks. 
" Kaw ! " they said, " what lies you 

tell us ! 
Do not think that \ e believe them ! " 

Only Hiawatha laughed not, 
But he gravely spake and answered 
To their jeering and their jesting : 
" True is all lagoo tells us ; 
I have seen it in a vision, 



Seen the great canoe with pinions, 
Seen the people with white faces, 
Seen the coming of this bearded 
People of the wooden vessel 
From the regions of the morning, 
From the shining land of Wabun. 

" Gitche Mamto the Mighty, 
The Great Spirit, the Creator, 
Sends them hither on his errand, 
Sends them to us with his message. 
Wheresoe'er they move, before them 
Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo, 
Swarms the bee, the honey-maker ; 
Wheresoe'er they tread, beneath them 
Springs a flower unknown among us, 
Springs the White-man's Foot in blos- 
som. 

" Let us welcome, then, the strangers, 
Hail them as our friends and brothers, 
And the heart's right hand of friendship 
Give them when they come to see us. 
Gitche Manito the Mighty, 
Said this to me in my vision. 

" I beheld, too, in that vision 
All the secrets of the future, 
Of the distant days that shall be. 
I beheld the westward marches 
Of the unknown, crowded nations. 
All the land was full of people, 
Restless, struggling, toiling, striving, 
Speaking many tongues, yet feeling 
But one heart-beat in their bosoms. 
In the woodlands rang their axes, 
Smoked their towns in all the valleys, 
Over all the lakes and rivers 
Rushed their great canoes of thunder. 

"Then a darker, drearier vision 
Passedbefore me, vague and cloud-like: 
I beheld our nation scattered, 
All forgetful of my counsels, 
Weakened, warring with each other ; 
Saw the remnants of our people 
Sweeping westward, wild and woful, 
Like the cloud-rack of a tempest, 
Like the withered leaves of Autumn ! " 

XXII. 

Hiawatha's departure. 

By the shore of Gitche Gumee, 
By the shining Big-Sea- Water, 
At the doorway of his wigwam, 
In the pleasant Summer morning- 
Hiawatha stood and waited. 



24S 



THE SONG OF HI A WA THA. 



All the air was full of freshness, 
All the earth was bright and joyous, 
And before him, through the sunshine, 
Westward toward the neighboringforest 
Passed in golden swarms the Ahmo, 
Passed the bees, the honey-makers, 
Burning, singing in the sunshine. 

Bright above him shone the heavens, 
Level spread the lake before him ; 
From its bosom leaped the sturgeon, 
Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine ; 
On its margin the great forest 
Stood reflected in the water. 
Every tree -top had its shadow, 
Motionless beneath the water. 
From the brow of Hiawatha 
Gone was every trace of sorrow, 
As the fog from off" the water, 
As the mist from off the meadow. 
With a smile of joy and triumph, 
With a look of exultation, 
As of one who in a vision 
Sees what is to be, but is not, 
Stood and waited Hiawatha. 

Toward the sun his hands were lifted, 
Both the palms spread out against it, 
And between the parted fingers 
Fell the sunshine on his features, 
Flecked with light his naked shoulders, 
As it tails and flecks an oak-: 
Through the rifted leaves and branches. 

O'er the water floating, living, 
Something in the hazy distal 
Something ill the mists of morning, 
nned and lifted from the water, 
W seemed floating, now seemed fly- 
ing, 
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. 
Was it Shingebis the diver? 
Or the pelican, the Shada? 
Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah ? 
Or the white goose, Waw -be-wawa, 
With the water dripping, flashing 
lossy neck and feathers? 
It was neither goose nor diver, 
Neither pelican nor heron, 
( )'er the water floating, flying, 
Through the shining mist ot 'morning, 
But a birch-canoe with paddles, 
Rising, sinking on the water, 
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine ; 
And within it came a people 
From the distant land of Wabun, 
From the farthest realms of morning 



Came the Black-Robe chief, the 

Prophet, 
He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face, 
With his guides and his companions. 

And the noble Hiawatha. 
With his hands aloft extended, 
Held aloft in sign of welcome, 
Waited, full of exultation. 
Till the birch came with paddles 
Grated on the shining pebbles, 
Stranded on the sandy margin. 
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, 
With the cross upon his bosom, 
Landed on the sandy margin. 

Then the joyous Hiawatha 
Cried aloud and spake in this wise : 
" Beautiful is the sun, O strangers, 
When you come so far to see us ! 
All our town in peace awaits you, 
All our doors stand open for you ; 
You shall enter all our wigwams, 
For the heart's right hand we give you. 

" Never bloomed the earth so gayly, 
Never shone the sun so brightly, 
As to-day they shine and blossom 
When you come so far to see us ! 
Never was our lake so tranquil, 

\ r so free from rocks and sand-bars ; 

For your birch-canoe in passing 

Has removed both rock and sand bar. 

" Never before had our tobacco 
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor, 
\ 1 \er the broad leaves ot'om cornfields 
Were EO beautiful to look on, 
\ • seem to us this morning, 
When you come m> fir to see us ! " 

And the Black-Robe chief made an- 
swer, 
Stammered in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar: . 
"Peace be with you. Hiawatha, 
Peace be with you and your people, 
Peace of prayer, and peace <>t 1 anion, 
Peace ^\ \ hrist, and joy of Mary ! " 

Then the generous Hiawatha 
Led the strangers to his wigwam, 

ited them on skins of bison. 
Seated them on skins of ermine, 
And the careful old Nokomii 
Brought them food in bowls of k 

wood, 
Water brought in birchen diptx 
And the calumet, the | eace-pipe. 
Filled and lighted for their smoking. 



HIAWATHA'S DEPARTURE. 



249 



All the old men of the village, 
All the warriors of the nation, 
All the Jossakeeds, the prophets, 
The magicians, the Wabenos, 
And the medicine-men, the Medas, 
Came to bid the strangers welcome ; 
" It is well," they said, " O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

In a circle round the doorway, 
With their pipes they sat in silence, 
Waiting to behold the strangers, 
Waiting to receive their message ; 
Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale- 
face, 
From the wigwam came to greet them, 
Stammering in his speech a little, 
Speaking words yet unfamiliar ; 
" It is well," they said, "O brother, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

Then the Biack-Robe chief, the 
prophet, 
Told his message to the people, 
Told the purport of his mission, 
Told them of the Virgin Mary, 
And her blessed Son, the Saviour, 
How in distant lands and ages 
He had lived on earth as we do ; 
How he fasted, prayed, and labored ; 
How the Jews, the tribe accursed, 
Mocked him, scourged him, crucified 

him ; 
How he rose from where they laid him, 
Walked again with his disciples, 
And ascended into heaven. 

And the chiefs made answer, saying : 
" We have listened to your message, 
We have heard your words of wisdom, 
We will think on what you tell us. 
It is well for us, O brothers, 
That you come so far to see us ! " 

Then they rose up and departed 
Each one homeward to his wigwam, 
To the young men and tne women 
Told the story of the strangers 
Whom the Master of Life had sent them 
From the shining land of Wabun. 

Heavy with the heat and silence 
Grew the afternoon of Summer; 
With a" drowsy sound the forest 
Whispered round the sultry wigwam, 
With a sound of sleep the water 
Rippled on the beach below it ; 
From the cornfields shrill and ceaseless 
Sang the grasshopper, Pah-puk-keena ; 



And the guests of Hiawatha, 
Weary with the heat of Summer, 
Slumbered in the sultry wigwam. 

Slowly o'er the simmering landscape 
Fell the evening's dusk and coolness, 
And the long and level sunbeams 
Shot their spears into the forest, 
Breaking through its shields of shadow, 
Rushed into each secret ambush, 
Searched each thicket, dingle, hollow ; 
Still the guests of Hiawatha 
Slumbered in the silent wigwam. 

From his place rose Hiawatha, 
Bade farewell to old Nokomis, 
Spake in whispers, spake in this wise, 
Did not wake the guests, that slum- 
bered : 
" I am going, O Nokomis, 
On a long and distant journey, 
To the portals of the Sunset, 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin. 
But these guests I leave behind me, 
In your watch and ward I leave them ; 
See that never harm comes near them, 
See that never fear molests them, 
Never danger nor suspicion, 
Never want of food or shelter, 
In the lodge of Hiawatha ! " 

Forth into the village went he, 
Bade farewell to all the warriors, 
Bade farewell to all the young men, 
Spake persuading, spake in this wise : 

" I am going, O my people, 
On a long and distant journey ; 
Many moons and many winters 
Will have come, and will have vanished, 
Ere I come again to see you. 
But my guests I leave behind me ; 
Listen to their words of wisdom, 
Listen to the truth they tell you, 
For the Master of Life has sent them 
From the land of light and morning ! " 

On the shore stood Hiawatha, 
Turned and waved his hand at parting; 
On the clear and luminous water 
Launched his birch-canoe for sailing, 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water ; 
Whispered to it, " Westward ! west- 
ward ! " 
And with speed it darted forward. 

And the evening sun descending 
Set the clouds on fire with redness, 



2$0 



THE SOXG OF HIAWATHA, 



Burned the broad sky, like a prairie, 
Left upon the level water 
One long track and trail of splendor, 
Down whose stream, as down a river, 
"Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 
Sailed into the purple vapors, - 
Sailed into the dusk of evening. 

And the people from the margin 
Watched him floating, rising, sinking, 
Till the birch-canoe seemed lifted 
High into that sea of splendor, 
Till it sank into the vapors 
Like the new moon slowly, slowly 
Sinking in the purple distance. 

And they said, " Farewell forever ! " 
Said, " Farewell, O Hiawatha !" 
And the forests, dark and lonely, 



Moved through all their depths of 
darknc 



Sighed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 
And the waves upon the margin 
Rising, rippling on the pebbles, 
Sobbed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha ! " 
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From her haunts among the fen-lands, 
Screamed, " Farewell, O Hiawatha I " 

Thus departed Hiawatha, 
Hiawatha the Delovecl, 
In the glory of the sunset, 
In the purple mists of evening. 
To the regions of the home-wind, 
Of the Northwest-wind Keewaydin, 
To the Islands of the Blessed, 
To the kingdom cf Ponemah, 
i To the land of the Hereafter ! 



VOCABULARY. 



Adjidau'mo, the red squirrel. 

Ahdeek', the reindeer. 

Ahkose'win, fever, 

Ahmeek', the heaver. 

Algon'quin, Ojibway. 

Annemee'kee, the thunder. 

Apuk'wa, a bulrush. 

Baim-wa'wa. the sound of the thunder. 

Bemah'gut. the rrape-vitie. 

Be'na, the pheasant. 

Sea- Water, Lake Superior. 

Bukada'win, famine. 

Cheemaun', a birch-canoe. 

Chetowaik', the plover. 

Chibia'bos, a musician ; friend of 
Hiaivatha ; ruler in the Land of 
Spirits. 

Dahin'da, the bull-frog. 

Dush-kwo-ne'she, or Kwo-ne'she, the 
dragon -fly. 

Esa, shame u/on you. 

Ewa-vea', lullaby. 

Ghee'zis, the sun. 

Gitche Gu'mee, the Big-Sea-Water, 
Lake Superior. 

Gitche Man'ito. the Great Spirit, the 
Master of Life. 

Gushkewau', the darkness. 

Hiawa'tha, the Wise Man, the Teach- 
er, son of Mud/ekeewi< ; the 'i'est- 
Wind, and Wenonak, daughter of 
Nokotnis. 



Ia'goo, a great boaster and story-teller. 
Inin'ewug. men, or pawns in the Game 

of the Boicl. 
Ishkoodah',y?r,? ; a comet. 
Jee'bi, a ghost, a spirit. 
Joss'akeed. a prophet. 
Kabibonok'ka, the Xorth-Wind. 
h, the hedgehog. 
do not. 
Kahgabgee', the raven. 

K a ween', no indeed. 

kayoshk', the sea-gull. 

Kee'go, a/ish. 

Keen ay 'din, the Xorthwest-wind, the 

Home-wind. 
Kena'beek, a serpent 
Keneu', the great war-eagle. 
Keno'zha, the pickerel. 
Ko'ko-ko ho, the 

Kuntasoo', th% Game of Flu ?n- stone*. 
Kwa'sind, the Strong Man. 
Kwo-ne'she, or Dush-kwo-ne'she, l/ie 

dragon-fly. 
Mahnahbe zee. the swan. 
Mating, the loon. 

Mahn-go-tny'si-e. Inon-hearted, brave. 
Mahnomo'nee, wild rice. 
Ma' ma. the woodpecker. 
Maskeno'zha, the pit 
Me'da, a medicine:- man. 
Meenah'ga, the blueberry. 



VOCABULARY. 



251 



Megissog'won, the great Pearl-Feath- 
er, a magician, and the Manito of 
Wealth. 

Meshinau'wa, a pipe-bearer. 

Minjekah'wun, Hiawatha's mittens. 

Minneha'ha, Laughing Water; a 
waterfall on a stream running into 
the Mississippi, between Fort Sitell- 
ing and the Falls of St. A nthony. 

Minneha'ha, Laughing Water ; wife 
of Hiawatha. 

Minne-wa'wa, a pleasant sound, as of 
the wind in the trees. 

Mishe-Mo'kwa, the Great Bear. 

Mishe-Nah'ma, the Great Sturgeon. 

Miskodeed', the Spring- Beauty, the 
Claytonia Virgmica. 

Monda'min, Indian com. 

Moon of Bright Nights, April. 

Moon of Leaves, May. 

Moon of Strawberries, Jtine. 

Moon of the Falling Leaves, September. 

Moon of Snow-shoes, November. 

Mudjekee'wis, the West- Wind; father 
of Hiawatha. 

Mudway-aush/ka, sound of waves on a 
shore. 

Mushkoda'sa, the grouse. 

Nah'ma, the sturgeon. 

Nah'ma-wusk', spearmint. 

Na'gow Wudj'oo, the Sand Dunes of 
Lake Superior. 

Nee-ba-naw'baigs, water-spirits. 

Nenemoo'sha, sweetheart. 

Nepah'win, sleep. 

Noko'mis, a grandmother ; mother of 
Wenonah. 

No'sa, my father. 

Nush'ka, lookl look I 

Odah/min, the strawberry. 

Okahah'wis, the fresh-water herring. 

Ome'me, the pigeon. 

Ona'gon, a bowl. '* 

Onaway', awake. 

Ope'chee, the robin. 

Osse'o, Son of the Evening Star. 

Owais'sa, the bluebird. 

Oweenee', wife of Osseo. 

Ozawa'beek, a round piece of brass or 
copper in the Game of the Bowl. 

Pah-puk-kee'na, the grasshopper. 

Pau'guk, death. 

Pau-Puk-Kee'wis, the handsome Yen- 
adizze, the Storm. Fool. 



Pauwa'ting, Saut Sainte Marie. 

Pe'boan, Winter. 

Pem'ican, meat of the deer or buffalo 

dried and pounded. 
Pezhekee', the bison. 
Pishnekuh', the brant. 
Pone'mah, hereafter. 
Pugasaing', Game of the Bowl. 
Puggawau'gun, a wur-club. 
Puk-Wudj'ies, little wild men of the 

•woods ; pygmies. 
Sah-sah-je'wun, rapids. 
Sah'wa, the perch. 
Segwun', Spring. 
Sha'da, the pelican. 
Shahbo'min, the gooseberry. 
Shah-shah, long ago. 
Shaugoda'ya, a coward. 
Shawgashee', the craw-fish. 
Shawonda'see, the South- Wind. 
Shaw-shaw, the swallow. 
Shesh'ebwug, ducks; pieces in the 

Game of the Bowl. 
Shin'gebis, the diver, or grebe. 
Showain' neme'shin, pity me. 
Shuh-shuh'gah, the blue heron. 
Soan-ge-ta'ha, strong-hearted. 
Subbeka'she, the spider. 
Sugge'ma, the mosquito. 
To'tem, family coat of arms. 
Ugh, yes. 

Ugudwash', the sun-fish. 
Unktahee', the God of Water. 
Wabas'so, the rabbit ; the North. 
Wabe'no, a magician, a juggler. 
Wabe'no-wusk, yarrow . 
Wa'bun, the East- Wind. 
Wa'bun An'nung, the Star of the 

East, the Morning Star. 
Wahono'win, a cry of lamentation. 
Wah-wah-tay'see, the fire-fly. 
Wam'pum, beads of shell. 
Waubewy'on, a white skin wrapper. 
Wa'wa, the wild-goose. 
Waw'beek, a rock. 
Waw-be-wa'wa, the white goose. 
Wawonais'sa, the ivhippoorivill. 
Way-muk-kwa'na, the caterpillar. 
Wen'digoes, giants. 
Weno'nah, Hiawatha's mother, 

daughter of Nokomis. 
Yenadiz'ze, an idler and gambler ; an 

Indian dandy. 



2 5 2 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

* ■ 

THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

1858. 
1. 

MILES STANDISH. 

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims, 

To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling, 

Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather, 

Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain. 

Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing 

Ever and an6n to behold his glittering weapons of warfare, 

Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, — 

Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus, 

Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence, 

While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock. 

Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic, » 

Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron; 

Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already 

Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November. 

Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, and household companion, 

Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window; 

Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion, 

Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives 

Whom Saint Gregory saw, arnd exclaimed, " Not Angles, but Angels." 

Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the May Flower. 

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting, 
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth. 
"Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike weapons that hang here 
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection ! 
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders ; this breastplate, 
Well I remember the day ! once saved my life in a skirmish ; 
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet 
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero. 
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish 
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses." 
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing: 
" Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet; 
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon ! " 
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling: 
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging; 
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to ot hers. 
{Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adagej^ 
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhom. 
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army, 
Twelve men, all equipped, having each, his rest and his matchlock, 
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage, 
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers ! " 
This he said with a smile, th,it danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams 
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment. 



LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 253 

Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued : 

" Look ! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted 

High on the roof of the church, a preacher who speaks to the purpose, 

Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irresistible logic, 

Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts of the heathen. 

Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the Indians ; 

Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they try it the better, — 

Let them come if they like, be it sagamore, sachem, or pow-wow, 

Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Tokamahamon ! " 

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully gazed on the landscape, 
Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath of the east-wind, 
Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel-blue rim of the ocean, 
Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows and sunshine. 
Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those on the landscape, 
Gloom intermingled with light ; and his voice was subdued with emotion, 
Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he proceeded : 
"Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried Rose Standish; 
Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by the wayside ! 
She was the first to die of all who came in the May Flower ! 
Green above her is growing the field of wheat we have sown there. 
Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves of our people, 
Lest they should count them and see how many already have perished 1 " 
Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, and was thoughtful. 

Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, and among them 
Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and for binding ; 
Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries of Caesar 
Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge of London, 
And, as if guarded by these, between them was standing the Bible. 
Musing a moment before them, Miles Standish paused, as if doubtful 
Which of the three he should choose for his consolation and comfort, 
Whether the wars of the Hebrews, the famous campaigns of the Romans, 
Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent Christians. 
Finally down from its shelf he dragged the ponderous Roman, 
Seated himself at the window, and opened the book, and in silence 
Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb-marks thick on the margin, 
Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle w*as hottest. 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, 
Busily writing epistles important, to go by the May Flower, 
Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, God willing ! 
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that terrible winter, 
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of Priscilla, 
Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla ! 

II. 

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling, 

Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain. 

Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Caesar. 

After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downwards, 

Heavily on the page : "A wonderful man was this Caesar ! 

You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow 

Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful 1 " 






254 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 

Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the comely, the youthful : 

" Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his pen and his weapons. 

Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he could dictate 

Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his memoirs." 

" Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or hearing the other, 

"Truly a wonderful man was Cains Julius Cresar ! 

Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village, 

Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right when he said it. 

Twice was he married before he was twenty, and many times after ; 

Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand cities he conquered ; 

He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has recorded ; 

Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator Brutus I 

v, do you know what he did on a certain occasion in Flanders, 
When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the front giving way too, 
And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded so close! her 

There was do room for their swords? Why, he seized a shield from a soldier, 
• himself straight at the head of his troops, and commanded the captains, 
ing on each by his name, to order forward the ensigns : 
Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for their weapons ; 
So he won the day, the battle of something-or-other. 

I hat '■ what I always say ; if you wish a thing to be well done, 
\ u must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others ! " 

All was silent again ; the Captain continued his readin 
Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling 
Writing epistles important to go next day by the May f lower, 
Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan maiden Priscilla ; 
Every sentence begun or dosed with the name of Priscilla, 
Till the treacherous pen. to which he confided the mi ret. 

Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the name of Priscilla I 

Finally closing his book, with a bang <>t the poi 

Sudden and loud as the sound i undine, his musket, 

Thus to the young man spai tandlfth the Captain of Plymouth : 

"When you have ti: Mr work, I have some thing important to tell you. 

Be not however in haste ; I can wait ; I shall not be impatient 1" 
Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last ol his letters, 

P nd giving i >il attention : 

"Speak; for win lk, I am a' listen, 

Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles Standish." 
Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, and culling his phrases: 

II 'T is not good f<T a man to be alone, say the SdiptUl 
This I have said before, and again and again 1 repeat it ; 
Every hour in the day. I think it. and feel it. and say it. 
Since 1 tandish died, my life has been weary and dreary 
Sick at heart have I been, beyond the ! dship. 
( )tt in my lonely hours have I thought of the maiden Priscilla. 
She is alone in the world : her father and mother and brother 
Died in the winter together : I saw her going and comii 

•. to the grave of the dead, and now to the bed of the dving, 

cut, cot and strong, and said to myself, that if e 

'1 here we: - on earth, a there are angels in heaven. 

Two have I een and known ; and tie- angel whose name tf Priscilla 

Is in my desolate life the place which the other abandon* 
Long have I cherished the thought, but never have dared to reveal it, 






THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 255 

Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for the most part. 

Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden of Plymouth, 

Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words but of actions, 

Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart of a soldier. 

Not in these words, you know, but this in short is my meaning ; 

I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. 

You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in elegant language, 

Such as you read in your books of the pleadings and wooings of lovers, 

Such as you think best adapted to win the heart of a maiden." 

When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair-haired, taciturn stripling, 
All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, bewildered, 
Trying to mask his dismay by treating the subject with lightness, 
Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand still in his bosom, 
Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken by lightning, 
Thus made answer and spake, or rather stammered than answered : 
" Such a message as that, I am sure I should mangle and mar it ; 
If you would have it well done, — I am only repeating your maxim, — 
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to others ! " 
But with the air of a man whom nothing can turn from his purpose, 
Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Captain of Plymouth : 
" Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to gainsay it ; 
But we must use it discreetly, and not waste powder for nothing. 
Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of phrases. 
I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, 
But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not. 
I 'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth of a cannon, 
But of a thundering ' No ! ' point-blank from the mouth of a woman, 
That I confess I 'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed to confess it ! 
So you must grant my request, for you are an elegant scholar, 
Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turning of phrases." 
Taking the hand ofchis friend, who still was reluctant and doubtful, 
Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, he added : 
" Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is the feeling that prompts me ; 
Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name of our friendship ! " 
Then made answer John Alden : "The name of friendship is sacred ; 
What you demand in that name, I have not the power 1o deny you ! " 
So the strong will prevailed, subduing and moulding the gentler, 
Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went on his errand. 

III. 

THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 

So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on his errand, 

Out of the street of the village, and into the paths of the forest, 

Into the tranquil woods, where bluebirds and robins were building 

Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gardens of verdure, 

Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and freedom. 

All around him was calm, but within him commotion and conflict, 

Love contending with friendship, and self with each generous impulse. 

To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heaving and dashing, 

As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the vessel, 

Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the ocean ! 

"Must I relinquish it all," he cried with a wild lamentation,—* 



256 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDI SH. 

" Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the illusion? 

"Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and worshipped in silence? 

"Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and the shadow 

Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of Now England? 

Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths of corruption 

Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of passion ; 

Angels of light they seem, hut are only delusions of Satan. 

All is clear to me now ; I fee! it, I see it distinctly ! 

This is the hand of the Lord ; it is laid upon me in anger, 

I have followed too much the heart's desires and devices, 
Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols of Baal. 
This is the cross 1 must bear; the sin and the swift retribution." 

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went on his errand : 
Crossing the brook at the lord, v lu-ve it brawled < ver pebble and shallow, 
Cat! he vent, the May-1 owers blooming around him, 

I jrant, filling the air with a strange and wonderful sweetu. 

,drcn lest in tie \ uered with in their slumber. 

" Puritan i lid, '*and the type of Puritan maidens, 

and simple and sweet, the very tyi e ol Priscilla ! 
S i I will take rhera to her. cilia he May-flower of Plymouth) 

Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift will I take them ; 
! ithing their silent farewel fle and wither and perish) 

Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the giver." 

through the Plymouth v> hn Alden went on his errand; 

ne to au open space, and saw the disk of the ocean, 

mbre and cold with the comfortless breath of the east-wind ; 
the new-built home, and \ eo] le at work in a meadow ; 
rd. a^ he drew near the c!< < r, tl e musical voice ot Priscilla 
Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old Puritan anthem, 
.c that Luther sang t<> tl d w< rds ol the P mist. 

Full of the breath of the I "id. consoling and e< mforting manp 
n, as h held the form of the maiden 

ide her wheel, and the carded wool lik. w-drift 

I I at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, 
While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion. 
:i wide on her lap lav the well v\ ( in psalm-book of Ainsworth, 
nted in Amsterdam, the words and the music tOgethl 
Rough hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall ol .1 churchyard, 

rkened and overhung by the running vine of the \ 
Such was the book from win the old Puritan anthem, 

She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the fort 
Making the humble house and the modest apparel ofhomespun 
Ultiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth ol her bein 
r him rushed, like a wind that i- keen and (old and relentless, 
ughts of what might have been, and the weight and woe of his errand; 
All the dreams that had faded, and all the ho] es that had vanished, 
All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless mansion, 
] [aunted by vain 1 now ful fa< 

Still he said to himself, and almost fierct lv he said it, 

" 1 et not him that puttcth his hand to the | lough look back' 

Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers ot life to its fountains, 

Though it pass o'er the oftnC dead and the hearths of the living, 

It is the will of the Lord ; and his mercy enJureth forever 1 " 



THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 257 

So he entered the house : and the hum of the wheel and the singing 
Suddenly ceased ; for Priscilla, aroused by his step on the threshold, 
Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in signal of welcome, 
Saying, " I knew it was you, when I heard your step in the passage ; 
For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing and spinning." 
Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought of him had been mingled 
Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the heart of the maiden, 
Silent before her he stood, and gave her the flowers for an answer, 
Finding no words for his thought. He remembered that day in the winter, 
After the first great snow, when he broke a path from the village, 
Reeling and plunging along through the drifts that encumbered the doorway, 
Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered the house, and Priscilla 
Laughed at his snowy locks, and gave him a seat by the fireside, 
Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of her in the snow-storm. 
Had he but spoken then ! perhaps not in vain had he spoken ; 
Now it was all too late ; the golden moment had vanished ! 
So he stood there abashed, and gave her the flowers for an answer. 

Then they sat down and talked of the birds and the beautiful Spring-time, 
Talked of their friends at home, and the May Flower that sailed on the morrow. 
" I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puritan maiden, 
" Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedge-rows of England, — 
They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden ; 
Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the linnet, 
Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbors 
Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together, 
And, at the end of the street, the village church, with the ivy 
Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in the churchyard. 
Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my religion ; 
Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back in Old England. 
You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it : I almost 
Wish myself back. in Old England, I feel so lonely and wretched." 

Thereupon answered the youth : " Indeed I do not condemn you; 
Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible winter. 
Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on ; 
So I have come to you now, with an offer and proffer of marriage 
Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth ! " 

Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous writer of letters, — 
Did not embellish the. theme, nor array it fn beautiful phrases, 
But came straight to the point, and blurted it out like a school-boy ; 
Even the Captain himself could hardly have said it more bluntly. 
Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the Puritan maiden 
Looked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with wonder, 

Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her and rendered her speechless ; 
Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the ominous silence : 
" If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very eager to wed me, 
Why does he not come himself, and take the trouble to woo me ? 
If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not worth the winning ! " 
Then John Alden began explaining and smoothing the matter, 
Making it worse as he went, by saying the Captain was busy, — 
Had no time for such things ; — such things ! the words grating harshly 
Fell on the ear of Priscilla ; and swift as a flash she made answer : 
" Has he no time for such things, as you call it, before he is married, 

*7 



2 5 3 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH. 

Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after the weddu 

That is the way with you men ; you don't understand us, you cannot. 

When you have made up your minds, after thinking of this one and that one, 

Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with another, 

Then you make known your desire, with abnrj t and sudden avowal, 

And are offended and hurt, and indignant perhaps, that a woman 

Does not respond at once to a love that she never suspected, 

I I es not attain at a bound the height to which you have been climbing. 

This is not right nor just : for surely a woman 1 

<>t a thing to be asked for, and had lor only the asking. 
When one is truly in I e not only says it, but si 

1 he but waited awhile, had he only showed that he loved me, 
•n this Captain of yours — who knows? — at last might have won me. 
Old and rougn as he is ; but now it never can happei 

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the « riscilla, 

tit of his friend, explain ii pandin| 

■ ke of his courage ill. and of all his battles in I rs, 

•v with the I he had chosen to suffei n, 

v, in return for his real, they had made him Captain of Plymouth; 
tleman born, could trace his pedigree plainly 
Back to H I [all, in 1 eland. 

the son of Kal] h, aid tb< Isoo of 1 hurston tic Standi*!) : 

ir unto A w hi< h be was ' \\(\^<\, 

I hole the family arms, and had lor his u, nt 

I bed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the I 

II ira i man of honor, of nobl isnatun 

Though he w h. he was kindly ; she knew how during the winter 

II tended the sick, with a I as woman' 

ewhal hasty and hot. ild not deny it, and headstrong, 

might lie. but hearty, and placable alwa 

I 
I 

man in Plymouth, n woman in I ind, 

it be happy and proud K led the wife oi Miles Stand: 

t as he warmed and . in his simple and eloquent language, 

etful of a full ot tl rival, 

Archly the maiden si and, with c rrunning with lau 

Said, IB a tremulous voice, " \\ hy don't you speak for youi hn ? n 

IV. 

JOHN' All' 

lie open air John Alden, 1 bewildered, 

I like a man insane, and wander ■ 1>\ th< '' e: . 

i <l up and down tl nd bared his heaq to the east-wind, 

linn his heated brow, and tin- tin- and fevei within him. 
Slowly as out <'f the hc.r i . » 1 \- ] > t i < . 1 1 splend' 

Sank the City of God. m tin- \ i -ion of John 1 1 

with its cloudy walls ot chrj jasper, and sapphire, 

k the I '1 sun, and over it 

Glimmered the golden teed of the angel who measured the i 

" Welcome, O wind of the East !" he exclaimed in his wild exultati- 
" W'clcume, (_) wind of th t, from the caves of the misty Atlantic I 









JOHN ALDEN. 259 

Blowing o'er fields of ckilse, and measureless meadows of sea-grass, 
Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and gardens of ocean ! 
Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, and wrap me 
Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within me ! " 

Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning and tossing, 
Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of the sea-shore. 
Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of passions contending ; 
Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship wounded and bleeding, 
Passionate cries of desire, and importunate pleadings of duty ! 
" Is it my fault," he said, "that the maiden has chosen between us? 
Is it my fault that he failed, — my fault that I am the victor ? " 
Then within him there thundered a voice, like the voice of the Prophet : 
" It hath displeased the Lord ! " — and he thought of David's transgression, 
Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the front of the battle ! 
Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and self-condemnation, 
Overwhelmed him at once ; and he cried in the deepest contrition : 
" It hath displeased the Lord ! It is the temptation of Satan ! " 

Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, and beheld there 
Dimly the shadowy form of the May Flower riding at anchor, 
Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the morrow ; 
Heard the voices of men through the mist, the rattle of cordage 
Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and the sailors' " Ay, ay, Sir 1" 
Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping air of the twilight. 
Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and stared at the vessel, 
Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a phantom, 
Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the beckoning shadow. 
" Yes, it is plain to me now," he murmured ; " the hand of the Lord is 
Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bondage of error, 
Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its waters around me, 
Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts that pursue me. 
Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will abandon, 
Her whom I may not love, and him whom my heart has offended. 
Better to be in my grave in the green old churchyard in England, 
Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of my kindred ; 
Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame and dishonor ! 
Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the narrow chamber 
With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel that glimmers 
Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers of silence and darkness, — 
Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal hereafter ! " 

Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of his strong resolution, 
Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along in the twilight, 
Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent and sombre, 
Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of Plymouth, 
Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of the evening. 
Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubtable Captain 
Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of Caesar, 
Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or Brabant or Flanders. 
" Long have you been on your errand," he said with a cheery demeanor, 
Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears not the issue. 
" Not far off is the house, although the woods are between us ; 
But you have lingered so long, that while you were going and coming 
I have fought ten battles and sacked and demolished a city. 
Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that has happened." 



2 6o THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 

Then John Alden spake, and related the wondrous adventure, 
From beginning to end, minutely, just as it happened ; 
How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped in his courtship, 
Only smoothing a little, and softening down her refusal. 
But when he came at length to the words Priscilla had spoken, 

ids so tender and cruel : " Why don't you speak for yourself. John ? " 
Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped on the floor, till his armor 
Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound of sinister omen. 
All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden explosion. 
E'en as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction around it. 
Wildly he shouted, and loud : ''John Alden ! you have betrayed me ! 
Me, Miles Standish, your friend ! have supplanted, defrauded, betrayed me! 
One of my ancestors ran his sword through the heart of Wat Tyler : 
"Who shall prevent me from running my own through the heart of a traitor? 
Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason to friendship ! 
You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished and loved as a brothei ; 
You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my cup, to whose keeping 
1 have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the most sacred and secret, — 

BrutUS ! ah woe to the name o\ friendship hen-after ! 
BrutUS wa r*S friend, and you were mine, but henceforward 

Let there be nothing between us save war, and implacable hatred I 

So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode about in the chamber, 
Chafing and choking with rage ; like cords were the veins on his temples. 
But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at the doorwa 
Bringing in uttermost haste a m nt importance, 

Rumon of danger and war and hostile incursions of Indians ! 
Straightway the Captain paused, and, without further question or parley, 
k from the nail on the wall his sword with its scabbard of iron, 
kled the belt round his waist, and, frowning fiercely, departed. 
Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the BCabbaid 
I wing fainter and fainter, and dying away in the distance. 
Then In; arose from his seat, and looked forth into the darknc 
Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot with the insult, 

ted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his hands as in childhood, 
i ed in the silence of night to the Father who teeth in secret. 

Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away to the council, 
Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting his coming ; 

i in the middle of life, austere and grave in deportment, 
( )nly one of them old, the hill that w.i t to heaven, 

1 rered with snow, but erect, the excellent Elder of Plymouth, 

1 had sifted three kingdoms to find the whe.it tor this planting, 
Then had sifted the wheat, a the living seed of a nation ; 

say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the people I 

ir them was standing an Indian, in attitude stern and defiant, 
Naked down t«> tl. . and mini and fercx ion. in aspect; 

While 00 the table before them way King unopened a Bib 
Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in Holland, 
And beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake glittered, 
I lied, like a quiver, with arrows ; a signal and challenge of warfare, 

Light by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy tongues of defiant 
This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard them debating 
What were an answer befitting the hostile message and menace, 
Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting, objecting; 



THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOWER. 261 

One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the Elder, 

Judging it wise and well that some at least were converted, 

Rather than any were slain, for this was but Christian behavior ! 

Then out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart Captain of Plymouth, 

Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky with anger, 

" What ! do you mean to make war with milk and the water of roses? 

Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer planted 

There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red devils? 

Truly the only tongue that is understood by a savage 

Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth of the cannon !" 

Thereupon answered and said the excellent Elder of Plymouth, 

Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent language : 

" Not so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other Apostles ; 

Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of fire they spake with J " 

But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, 

Who had advanced to the table, and thus continued discoursing : 

" Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it pertaineth. 

War is a terrible trade ; but in the cause that is righteous, 

Sweet is the smell of powder ; and thus I answer the challenge ! " 

Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden, contemptuous gesture, 
Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and bullets 
Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage, 
Saying, in thundering tones : " Here, take it ! this is your answer ! " 
Silently out of the room then glided the glistening savage, 
Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself like a serpent, 
Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of the forest. 

V. 

THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOWER. 

Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows, 
There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering village of Plymouth ; 
Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order imperative, " Forward ! " 
Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then silence. 
Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of the village. 
Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his valorous army, 
Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of the white men, 
Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of the savage. 
Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men of King David ; 
Giants in heart they were, who believed in God and the Bible, — 
Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and Philistines. 
Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners of morning ; 
Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, advancing, 
Fired along the line, and in regular order retreated. 

Many a mile had they marched, when at length the village of Plymouth 
Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its manifold labors. 
Sweet was the air and soft ; and slowly the smoke from the chimneys 
Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily eastward ; 
Men came forth from the doors, and paused and talked of the weather, 
Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing fair for the May Flower ; 
Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the dangers that menaced, 
He being gone, the town, and what should be done in his absence. 
Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of women 



26a THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 

Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the household. 

Out of the sea rose the sun, and the bil oiced at his coming ; 

LUtiful were his feet on the purple lops of the mountains ; 
Beautiful on the sails of the May 1 lower riding at anchor, 
Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. 
Loosely against her masts was hanging and flapping her can 
Rent by so many gales, and patched by the ha ;he sailors. 

Suddenly from her side, as the sun rote over the ocean. 

ed a puff of smoke, and floated seaward ; an< 
Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the echoes 
Heard and repeated the sound, the .un of departui 

! but with louder eel lied the hearts of the people ! 

Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the Bible, 
ekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fervent enti 

their 1; te forth tl. Plymouth, 

i and women and children, all hurrying down to the re, 

er, with tearful e\ the Ma I 

Homeward bound o'er the lea, and leaving them here in the desert. 

them was Alden. All night he had lain without slumber, 
tit in the heat and unrest ot hi-> fever. 
He had beheir indish, who came back I n the council, 

king into the room, and heard him mutter and murmur, 
Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it sounded like swearing. 
Once he had come to the bed, and stood I nent in silence ; 

•n he had turned away, and s,ml : " I will not him ; 

. it is hi what is the use of more talk 

lied the light, and threw himself down on his pallet, 
! is he irt at the break of the morning, — 

ered himself with the cl< ^m\ worn in hi^ campaigns in Flanders, — 

Sle; 'ier sleeps in his bivouac, ready I On, 

!i the dawn h< in the tw Id him 

Pill on hi trel, and all the rest ot his ai n m 

ut his waist his trusty blade 

:. and so strid the chaml>er. 

n the 1 nth had burned at rned to em: m, 

en his lips m ; 

All the old friendslu, ful emotions; 

his pride over d the nobler nature within him, — 

1'iide, and the sc and the burning tire <•! the insult. 

he beheld his friend departing in anger, but spake not 
v him go forth to i r, perhaj ath, and he s] t ! 

Then I e from 1 I, and heard what the people were ivit 

ed in the talk at the door, with Stephen and I 
Joined in the mornin rad in the n 

And. with th< went hurrj n to tl hore, 

wn to l mouth Rock, thai had bei n t" tl ep 

Into a world unknown, — the corners: | nation ! 

There with his h the Master, already a little impatient 

t he should lose the tide, or the wind might shift to I ward, 

ire-built, 1 . with an tbout him, 

•. ith this one and that, and cramming l< I els 

Into his pockets capacious, and messages mil lier 

Into his narrow brain, till at last he was whoK cd. 









THE SAILING OF THE MAY FLOWER. 263 

Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed on the gunwale, 

One still firm on the rock, and talking at times with the sailors, 

Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager for starting. 

He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to his anguish, 

Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than keel is or canvas, 

Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would rise and pursue him. 

But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld fhe form of Priscilla 

Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all that was passing. 

Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his intention, 

Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, imploring, and patient, 

That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled from its purpose, 

As from the verge of a crag, where one step more is destruction. 

Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mysterious instincts ! 

Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are moments, 

Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the wall adamantine I 

" Here I remain ! " he exclaimed, as he looked at the heavens above him, 

Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the mist and the madness, 

Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was staggering headlong. 

" Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether above me, 

Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning over the ocean. 

There is another hand, that is not so spectral and ghost-like, 

Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine for protection. 

Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the ether ! 

Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt me ; I heed not 

Either your warning or menace, or any omen of evil ! 

There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so wholesome, 

As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is pressed by her footsteps. 

Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible presence 

Hover around her forever, protecting, supporting her weakness ; 

Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this rock at the landing, 

So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at the leaving ! " 

Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified air and important, 
Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and the weather, 
Walked about on the sands, and the people crowded around him 
Saying a few last words, and enforcing his careful remembrance. 
Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller, 
Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel, 
Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry, 
Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness and sorrow, 
Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing but Gospel ! 
Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell of the Pilgrims. 
O strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the May Flower ! 
No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to this ploughing ! 

Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors 
Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponderous anchor. 
Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west-wind, 
Blowing steady and strong ; and the May Flower sailed from the harbor, 
Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward 
Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First Encounter, 
Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic, 
Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling hearts of the Pilgrims. 

Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the vessel, 
Much endeared to them all, as something living and human ; 



a&< THE COURTSHIP OF MILES ST AX DISH. 

Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wTapt in a vision prophetic, 

Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 

Said, " Let us pray ! " and they p ra yed, and thanked the Lord and took courage. 

irnfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, and above then 
Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and their kindred 
Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the prayer that they uttered. 
Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the 
Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in id; 

Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping 

they turned to depart, they saw the form of an Indian, 

them from the hill ; but while they spake with each other, 
Pointing with i ched hands, and saying. Look I " lie had vanished. 

turned to their homes ; but Alden lingered a litt 

the shore, and watching the Mows 

i e of the rock, and the sparkle and flash of the sunshine. 

Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the waters. 

VI. 
PRISCILLA. 

Tuts for a while he stood, and mused by the shore of the ocean, 
lany tli nd most of all cilia ; 

t had the j to itself, like the loadstone, 

\vi. ■ hes, i its natui 

Lo ! as he turned to d :e him. 

\rc you so much offended, you will not speak to me? " said she. 
•nix h : elding 

irmly tl : anoUx mpulstvt and waywai 

rum ? 

' in K 

What I ought it ; 

I . hen th. .on, 

;icc it I like a pebble 

i uind like wat< e gath< 

1 i mdish, 

■ 
in, and even 1 ting in Flanders, 

d win tl .1 woman, 

ind the rest, in exalting youi lun>. 
I did. by an irresistible impu 
You will forgive me, I hope lot tin ieudship between us, 

Whit li is too trui v broli 

Mden, the scholar, tl. ol Miles Standish: 

" I with you, with myself alone I v 

Seeing how badly In i I had in m\ 

ipted the n with answer prompt ve ; 

rankly and 

It v. ! the fate of a woman 

I .nd silent, to wait like hlcst, 

Till some questioning nee. 

Hence is the inner 1. many Buffering worn 

Sunless and silent and deep, like subtenanean rivers 



PRISCILLA. 265 

Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, unseen, and unfruitful, 

Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and profitless murmurs." 

Thereupon answered John Alden, the young man, the lover of women : 

" Heaven forbid it, Priscilla ; and truly they seem to me always 

More like the beautiful rivers that watered the garden of Eden, 

More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of Havilah flowing, 

Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet of the garden ! " 

"Ah, by these words, I can see," again interrupted the maiden, 

" How very little you prize me, or care for what I am saying. 

When from the depths of my heart, in pain and with secret misgiving, 

Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only and kindness, 

Straightway you take up my words, that are plain and direct and in earnest, 

Turn them away from their meaning, and answer with flattering phrases. 

This is not right, is not just, is not true to the best that is in you ; 

For I know and esteem you, and feel that your nature is noble, 

Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal level. 

Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it perhaps the more keenly 

If you say aught that implies I am only as one among many, 

If you make use of those common and complimentary phrases 

Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking with women, 

But which women reject as insipid, if not as insulting." 

Mute and amazed was Alden ; and listened and looked at Priscilla, 
Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more divine in her beauty. 
He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause of another, 
Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking in vain for an answer. 
So the maiden went on, and little divined or imagined 
What was at work in his heart, that made him so awkward and speechless. 
" Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all things 
Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of friendship. 
It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to declare it : 
I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak with you always. 
So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted to hear you 
Urge me to marry your friend, though he were the Captain Miles Standish. 
For I must tell you the truth : much more to me is your friendship 
Than all the love he could give, were he twice the hero you think him." 
Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who eagerly grasped it, 
Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were aching and bleeding so sorely, 
Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said, with a voice full of feeling : 
" Yes, we must ever be friends ; and of all who offer you friendship 
Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest ! " 

Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail of the May Flower, 
Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the horizon, 
Homeward together they walked, with a strange, indefinite feeling, 
That all the rest had departed and left them alone in the desert. 
But, as they went through the fields in the blessing and smile of the sunshine, 
Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very archly : 
" Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pursuit of the Indians, 
Where he is happier far than he would be commanding a household, 
You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that happened between you, 
When you returned last night, and said how ungrateful you found me." 
Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the whole of the story,— 
Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath of Miles Standish. 
Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between laughing and earnest, 



266 



THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 



" He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a moment 

But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how he had suffered, — 

How he had even determined to sail that day in the May Flowi 

And had remained for her sake, on hearing the dangers that threatened, — 

All her manner was changed, and she said with a faltering accent, 

" Truly I thank you for this : how good you have been to me always ! " 

Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jerusalem journ< 
Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly backward. 

,:ed by importunate zeal, and withheld by pangs of contrition ; 
Slowly but steadily onward, receding vet ever advanpi 
Journeyed this Puritan youth to the H d of his longings, 

Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by remorseful misgivings, 

VII. 

THF. MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 

WHILB the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadily northward, 
ding throi imp, and along the trend of the sea-shore, 

All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his an. 
Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of powder 
Seeming no to hi- n than all the seen; 

Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his di rt J 

] to Buccess, .ind t - alwa; 

Thus to be flouted, and laugh* orn by a maid 

Thai to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom m had trusted 1 

Ah ! t was too much to be borne, and he fretted and in his armor I 

11 1 alone am to blame." he muttered. " for mine was the folly. 
What h rim and gray in the harness. 

1 to the camp and it to do with the is r 

nit a dream, — let it ; let it vanish like to many others ! 

only a in WOTthJl 

• of my !i<-art will I pluck it, and throw it B I e forward 

filter of battV 
Thus he t< : in his mind his son 

While he was marching by I night in tin- 

Looking up at the trees, and tl> tellatiot milium. 

After a three days' march he came to an Indian ent 

1 on the meadow, I i d the 

men at work by t! . and tl i with war paint* 

about a tire, and smoking and tall. 
Who, when they saw ar the sudden ich of the white men, 

i-.li i^\ the sun on and musl. 

htway ' to their feet, and ; m among them advancing, 

lie to parley with Standish, and offer him I :-t ; 

hip was in their looks, but in their hearts the: 

and brot 
ll Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, kii n ; 

( >i i named, and the Otl •. amat. 

led their kni\< : wampum, 

Tw< i knives, with poit He. 
Other amis had they none, for the) were cunnii 

" Welcome, English !" they said, — these won rued from the 






THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 267 

Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for peltries. 

Then in their native tongue they began to parley with Standish, 

Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend of the white man, 

Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder, 

Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his cellars, 

Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother the red man ! 

But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible, 

Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster. 

Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other, 

And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spake to the Captain : 

" Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, 

Angry is he in his heart ; but the heart of the brave Wattawamat 

Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a woman, 

But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree riven by lightning, 

Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons about him, 

Shouting, ' Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat? ' " 

Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the blade on his left hand, 

Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle, 

Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning : 

" I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle ; 

By and by they shall marry ; and there will be plenty of children ! " 

Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting Miles Standish : 
While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his bosom, 
Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it back, as he muttered, 
" By and by it shall see ; it shall eat : ah, ha ! but shall speak not ! 
This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us ! 
He is a little man ; let him go and work with the women 1 " 

Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians 
Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, 
Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on their bow-strings, 
Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush. 
But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly ; 
So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers. 
But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt, and the insult, 
All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de Standish, 
Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples. 
Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his knife from its scabbard, 
Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, the savage 
Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierceness upon it. 
Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war-whoop, 
And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, 
Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows. 
Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the lightning, 
Out of the lightning thunder; and death unseen ran before it. 
Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, 
Hotly pursued and beset ; but their sachem, the brave Wattawamat, 
Fled not ; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet 
Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching the greensward, 
Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his fathers. 

There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay, and above them, 
Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the white man. 
Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart Captain of Plymouth : 



■68 THE COURTSHIP OF MILES ST AX DISH. 

" Peck«mot br ery loud, of his c ength, and iture, — 

d the - aptain, .led hii man ; but I 

Big enough have you been to lay him - ess beh 

Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles Standi.^h. 
W ct\ the tidings the the vill th, 

\r the I at 

a fortress, 
d took courage. 
I averted her lace from tl 
I in her heart that she had not man - .:;di>h ; 

, home from h 
He should la\ to her i d of his valor. 

\ III. 

Tit: EL. 

<*r month pas \utumn the ships of the merchants 

kindre with i 

All in the village was . the n rs, 

i 

I AVS, 

huntin st. 

r at tii 
I led the 
' • res, 

irmies, 
Till 

Ai ll in hi-, h 

I 
' ic like 

ig its CUl ting it bitter and !i. 

• Aldcn at home had built him a n- 

Oiled to 

'd : 

tall, wl e, 

I II, that 

I 

r the pa I, mad mt by s 

uld the 

l 

■ 

. 
1 in th 
I r he th 

. — 
How th< 

v all the days of her i will do him good, , il, 






THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 269 

How she seeketh the wool and the flax and worketh with gladness, 
How she layeth her hand to the spindle and holdeth the distaff, 
How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or her household, 
Knowing her household are clothed with the scarlet cloth of her weaving ! 

So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in the Autumn, 
Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her dexterous fingers, 
As if the thread she was spinning were that of his life and his fortune, 
After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound of the spindle. 
" Truly, Priscilla," he said, " when I see you spinning and spinning, 
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others, 
Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in a moment ; 
You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the Beautiful Spinner." 
Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and swifter ; the spindle 
Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in her fingers ; 
While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued : 
" You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen of Helvetia ; 
She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of Southampton, 
Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and meadow and mountain, 
Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to her saddle. 
Shs was so thrifty and good, that her name passed into a proverb. 
So shall it be with your own, when the spinning-wheel shall no longer 
Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its chambers with music. 
Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it was in their childhood, 
Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla the spinner ! " 
Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden, 
Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose praise was the sweetest, 
Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her spinning, 
Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering phrases of Alden : 
" Come, you must not be idle ; if I am a pattern for housewives, 
Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. 
Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, ready for knitting ; 
Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changed and the manners, 
Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times of John Alden ! " 
Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands she adjusted, 
He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms extended before him. 
She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread from his fingers, 
Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding, 
Sometimes touching his hands, as she disentangled expertly 
Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares — for how could she help it? — 
Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his body. 

• > ■ 

Lo ! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messenger entered, 
Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the village. 
Yes ; Miles Standish was dead ! — an Indian had brought them the tidings, — 
Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front of the battle, 
Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole of his forces ; 
All the town would be burned, and all the people be murdered ! 
Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the hearts of the hearers. 
Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking backward 
Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in horror ; 
But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the arrow 
Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his own, and had sundered 
Once and forever the bonds that held him bound as a captive, 
Wild with excess of sensation, the awful delight of his freedom, 



27 o THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STAXDISH. 

Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of what he was doing, 
Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form of Priscilla, 
Pressing her close to his heart, as forever his own, and exclaiming : 
" Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put them asunder ! " 

Even as rivulets twain, from distant and separate sources, 
Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the rocks, and pursuing 
Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, 
Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest ; 
So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels, 
Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder, 
Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and nearer, 
Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. 

IX. 

THE WEDDING-DAY. 

Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet, 
I ed the sun, th High-Priest, in his garments resplendent, 

Holiness unto the Lord, in letter- ot light, on his forehead, 
Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pomegranates. 
Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath him 
Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a laver ! 

This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. 
Friends were assembled together; the Elder and Magistrate also 

ced the scene with their presence, and stood like the Law and the Gospel, 
1 with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven. 
Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth and of Boas. 

: 1 1 y the youth and the maiden re| eated the words oi betrothal, 
Taking each other for Husband and wife in the Magistrate's presence, 
Alter the Puritan way. and the laudable custom of Holland. 

ently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder of Plymouth 

the hearth and the home, that were founded that clay in affection, 
Speaking of life and of death, and iinj ne benedictions. 

■ ! when the service was ended, a form appeared on the threshold, 
Clad in armor of steel. I sombre and sorrowful figure ! 
Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the strange apparition } 

Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face on his shoulder? 

Is it a phantom of air, — a bodiless, spectral illusion? 

Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to forbid the betrothal? 
Og had it stood there unseen, a guest uninvited, unwelcomed ; 
er its clouded eyes there had passed at times an e on 

ftening the gloom and revealing the warm heart hidden beneath them, 
'.hen across the sky the driving rack of the rain cloud 

Grows for a moment thin, and lv he sun by its brightness. 

Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, but v nt, 

As if an iron will had mastered the fleeting intention. 

Rut when were ended the troth and the prayer and tin.- last benediction, 

Into the room it Strode, and tin- i eople beheld with ama/cmrnt 

Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth ! 
ping the bridegroom's hand, he said with emotion, " Forgive me ! 

I have been angry and hurt, — too long have I cherished the feeling ; 

I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God ! it is ended. 



THE WEDDING-DAY. 271 

Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the veins of Hugh Standish, 
Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning for error. 
Never so much as now was Miles Standish the friend of John Alden." 
Thereupon answered the bridegroom : " Let all be forgotten between us, — 
All save the dear, old friendship, and that shall grow older and dearer! " 
Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted Priscilla, 
Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned gentry in England, 
Something of camp and of court, of town and of country, commingled, 
Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly lauding her husband. 
Then he said with a smile : " I should have remembered the adage, — 
If you would be well served, you must serve yourself; and moreover, 
No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season of Christmas ! " 

Great was the people's amazement, and greater yet their rejoicing, 
Thus to behold once more the sun-burnt face of their Captain, 
Whom they had mourned as dead ; and they gathered and crowded about him, 
Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride and of bridegroom, 
Questioning, answering, laughing, and each interrupting the other, 
Till the good Captain declared, being quite overpowered and bewildered, 
He had rather by far break into an Indian encampment, 
Than come again to a wedding to which he had not been invited. 

Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and stood with the bride at the doorway, 
Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and beautiful morning. 
Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad in the sunshine, 
Lay extended before them the land of toil and privation ; 
There were the graves of the dead, and the barren waste of the sea-shore, 
There the familiar fields, the groves of pine, and the meadows ; 
But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the Garden of Eden, 
Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was the sound of the ocean. 

Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise and stir of departure, 
Friends coming forth from the house, and impatient of longer delaying, 
Each with his plan for the day, and the work that was left uncompleted. 
Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, 
Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, 
Brought out his snow-white bull, obeying the hand of its master, 
Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils, 
Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed for a saddle. 
She should not walk, he said, through the dust and heat of the noonday ; 
Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along like a peasant. 
Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the others, 
Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the hand of her husband, 
Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her palfrey. 
" Nothing is wanting now," he said with a smile, " but the distaff; 
Then you would be in truth my queen, my beautiful Bertha !," 

Onward the bridal procession now moved to their new habitation, 
Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. 
Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed the ford in the forest, 
Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love through its bosom, 
Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure abysses. 
Down through the golden leaves the sun was pouring his splendors, 
Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches above them suspended, 
Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of the pine and the fir-tree, 
Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the valley of Eschol. 



2 7 2 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral 

sh with the youth of the world, and recalling md Isaac, 

Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful a 
Love immortal and young in the endless succession oflorei 
So through the Plymouth woods passed onward the bridal procession. 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 

BOOM i prxi vnn cantf»n<l<> l<>r lni, 
Fat r Ui sc lunga ri 



PROMETHE1 

OR *"«£ POET'S FORETHOfGMT. 

Oi v undaonf 

II. auda< 

lanted, 
Full of prom] : 

Beautiful is th< ion 

; that flight through heavenly por- 

• old cl 

ul toe transm 
the tire of the [miDOTtala ! 

t the d< e darii 

nward 

a uh m< 

:» the vulture, — the < 
I 

All is but a symbol paint 

r ; 
1 those 

■ 
M r. 

In their fever: h exult 

In their triumph and th "ling, 

In theii 

■ 

The Protneth burning. 

Shall it. th imavailii 

I for hum. in c ult ure ? 
Through the cloud rack, dark and trail- 
Must tl 

• ''i lit! ' ■ I the vulture ? 

Sucl <-'s, 

By defeat and exile madden 



Thus w re MiltOO and Cervantes 
Bj affliction touched ai d. 

Bui th- 

That around t 1 
\:d. on all tl kttendant, 

With t inward It 

All the me' 
Throughth ted; 

I 
\ 

W hat wh i, songs that 

haunted ! 

All the soul in ra: 

All the qi 

in utm< 
With the fen "i ot invention, 

With the rapture g 1 

Prom< 
In tattoo 

I inquailij 

it behold the vuli 
Round the cloud) 

i In all there is not gr. 
Strength f< 
Th 

All th. 

lighted 

h the 
As the; I the message ! 



THE PHANTOM SHIP. 



273 






THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUS- 
TINE. 

Saint Augustine ! well hast thou said, 
That of our vices we can frame 

A ladder, if we will but tread 

Beneath our feet each deed of shame ! 

All common things, each day's events, 
That with the hour begin and end, 

Our pleasures and our discontents, 
Are rounds by which we may ascend. 

The low desire, the base design, 
That makes another's virtues less ; 

The revel of the ruddy wine, 
And all occasions of excess ; 

The longing for ignoble things ; 

The strife for triumph more than truth ; 
The hardening of the heart, that brings 

Irreverence for the dreams of youth ; 

All thoughts of ill ; all evil deeds, 
That have their root in thoughts of 

111 • 
Whatever hinders or impedes 

The action of ihe nobler will ; — 

All these must first be trampled down 
Beneath our feet, if we would gain 

In the bright fields of fair renown 
The right of eminent domain. 

We have not wings, we cannot soar ; 

But we have feet to scale and climb 
By slow degrees, by more and more, 

The cloudy summits of our time. 

The mighty pyramids of stone 

That wedge-likecleave thedesert airs, 

When nearer seen, and better known, 
Are but gigantic nights of stairs. 

The distant mountains, that uprear 
Their solid bastions to the skies, 

Are crossed by pathways, that appear 
As we to higher levels rise. 

The heights by great men reached and 
kept 

Were not attained by sudden flight, 
But they, while their companions slept, 

Were toiling upward in the night. 

Standing on what too long we bore 
With shoulders bent and downcast 
eyes, 
We may discern — unseen before — 
A path to higher destinies. 

18 



Nor deem the irrevocable Past, 
As wholly wasted, wholly vain, 

If, rising on its wrecks, at last 
To something nobler we attain. 



THE PHANTOM SHIP. 

In Mather's Magnalia Christi, 

Of the old colonial time, 
May be found in prose the legend 

That is here set down in rhyme. 

A ship sailed from New Haven, 
And the keen and frosty airs, 

That filled her sails at parting, 

Were heavy with good men's prayers. 

" O Lord ! if it be thy pleasure" — 
Thus prayed the old divine — 

" To bury our friends in the ocean, 
Take them, for they are thine ! " 

But Master Lamberton muttered, 
And under his breath said he, 

"This ship is so crank and walty 
I fear our grave she will be ! " 

And the ships that came from England, 
When the winter months were gone, 

Brought no tidings of this vessel 
Nor of Master Lamberton. 

This put the people to praying 

That the Lord would let them hear 

What in his greater wisdom 

He had done with friends so dear. 

And at last their prayers were an- 
swered : — 

It was in the month of June, 
An hour before the sunset 

Of a windy afternoon, 

When, steadily steering landward, 

A ship was seen below, 
And they knew it was Lamberton, Mas- 
ter, 

Who sailed so long ago. 

On she came, with a cloud of canvas, 
Right against the wind that blew, 

Until the eye could distinguish 
The faces of the crew. 

Then fell her straining topmasts, 
Hanging tangled in the shrouds, 

And her sails were loosened and lifted, 
And blown away like clouds. 



274 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



And the masts, with all their rigging, 

Fell slowly, one by one, 
And the hulk dilated and vanished, 

As a sea-mist in the sun ! 

And the people who saw this marvel 

Each said unto his friend, 
That this was the mould of their vessel, 

And thus her tragic end. 

And the pastor of the village 
Gave thanks to God in prayer, 

That, to quiet their troubled spirits, 
He had sent this Ship of Air. 



THE WARDEN OF THE 
CINQUE PORTS. 

A mist was driving down the British 
Channel, 
The day was just begun, 
And through the window-panes, on floor 
and panel, 
Streamed the red autumn sun. 

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling 
pennon, 
And the white sails of ships ; 
And, from the frowning rampart, the 
black cannon 
Hailed it with feverish lips. 

Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, 
Hithe, and Dover 
Were all alert that day, 
To see the French war-steamers speed- 
ing over, 
When the fog cleared away. 

Sullen and silent, and like couchant 
lions, 
Their cannon, through the night, 
Holding their breath, had watched, in 
grim defiance, 
The sea-coast opposite. 

And now they roared at drum-beat from 
their stations 
On every citadel ; 
Each answering each, with morning 
salutations, 
That all was well. 

And down the coast, all taking up the 
burden, 
Replied the distant forts, 



As if to summon from his sleep the 
Warden 
And Lord of the Cinque Ports. 

Him shall no sunshine from the fields 
of azure, 
No drum-beat from the wall, 
No morning gun from the biack fort's 
embrasure, 
Awaken with its call ! 

No more, surveying with an eye im- 
partial 
The long line of the coast, 
Shall the gaunt figure of the old Field 
Marshal 
Be seen upon his post ! 

For in the night, unseen, a single 
warrior, 
In sombre harness mailed, 
Dreaded of man, and surnamed the 
Destroyer, 
The rampart wall had scaled. 

He passed into the chamber of the 
sleeper, 
The dark and silent room, 
And as he entered, darker grew, and 
deeper, 
The silence and the gloom. 

He did not pause to parley or dissem- 
ble, 
But smote the Warden hoar ; 
Ah ! what a blow ! that made all Eng- 
land tremble 
And groan from shore to shore. 

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon 
waited, 

The sun rose bright o'erhead ; 
Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated 

That a great man was dead. 



HAUNTED HOUSES. 

All houses wherein men have lived 
and died 
Are haunted houses. Through the 
open doors 
The harmless phantoms on their er- 
rands glide, «Jr 
With feet that make no sound upon 
the floors. 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST. 



275 



We meet them at the doorway, on the 

stair, 
Along the passages they come and go, 
Impalpable impressions on the air, 
A sense of something moving to and 

fro. 

There are more guests at table, than 
the hosts 
Invited ; the illuminated hall 
Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive 
ghosts, 
As silent as the pictures on the wall. 

The stranger at my fireside cannot see 

The forms I see, nor hear the sounds 

I hear ; 

He but perceives what is ; while unto 

me 

All that has been is visible and clear. 

We have no title-deeds to house or 
lands ; 
Owners and occupants of earlier dates 
From graves forgotten stretch their 
dusty hands, 
And hold in mortmain still their old 
estates. 

The spirit-world around this world of 
sense 
Floats like an atmosphere, and every- 
where 
Wafts through these earthly mists and 
vapors dense 
A vital breath of more ethereal air. 

Our little lives are kept in equipoise 
By opposite attractions and desires ; 

The struggle of the instinct that enjoys, 
And the more noble instinct that as- 
pires. 

These perturbations, this perpetual jar 
Of earthly wants and aspirations high, 
- Come from the influence of an unseen 
star, 
An undiscovered planet in our sky. 

And as the moon from some dark gate 
of cloud 
Throws o'er the sea a floating bridge 
of light, 
Across whose trembling planks our 
fancies crowd 
Into the realm of mystery and 
night, — 



So from the world of spirits there de- 
scends 
A bridge of light, connecting it with 
this, 
O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways 
and bends, 
Wander our thoughts above the dark 
abyss. 

IN THE CHURCHYARD AT 
CAMBRIDGE. 

In the village churchyard she lies, 
Dust is in her beautiful eyes, 

No more she breathes, nor feels, nor 
stirs ; 
At her feet and at her head 
Lies a slave to attend the dead, 

But their dust is white as hers. 

Was she a lady of high degree, 
So much in love with the vanity 

And foolish pomp of this world of 
ours ? 
Or was it Christian charity, 
And lowliness and humility, 

The richest and rarest of all dowers ? 

Who shall tell us? No one speaks ; 
No color shoots into those cheeks, 

Either of anger or of pride, 
At the rude question we have asked ; 
Nor will the mystery be unmasked 

By those who are sleeping at her side. 

Hereafter ? — And do you think to look 
On the terrible pages of that Book 

To find her failings, faults, and errors? 
Ah, you will then have other cares, 
In your own shortcomings and despairs, 

In your own secret sins and terrors ! 



THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S- 

NEST. 

Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, 

With his swarthy, grave commanders, 
I forget in what campaign, 
Long besieged, in mud and rain, 
Some old frontier town of Flanders. 

Up and down the dreary camp, 

In great boots of Spanish leather, 
Striding with a measured tramp, 



276 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



These Hidalgos, dull and damp, 

Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the 
sather. 

Thus as to and fro they went, 

( )ver upland and through hollow, 

Giving their impatience vent, 

ched upon the Emperor's tent. 
In her nest, they spied a swallow. 

a swallow's n 
Built of clay and hair of horses, 
Mane, or tail, or dragoon V 
Found on hedge-row and west, 

Atter skirmish of the 

Then an old Hid d, 

he twirled ly mustachio, 

-Mire this swallow overhead 
Thinks the Emperor's tent a sfa 

And the Emperor but a Macho ! " 

Hearing his imperial name 

led with those w orris of malice, 
i <-r, half in sh. 

1 irth the great campaigner came 
Slowly from his cam :ce. 

'■ I el no hand the bird molt 

id he solemnly. '* DOT hurt her ! " 
ing then, by way 

mdrina is n t. 

is the wife of some deserter 

ifi a> bowstris ift, 

Through the camp wa id the 

rumor. 

And tl they quaffed 

i it dinner, 1 

At tlu 1 ror's pleasant humor. 

So unharmed and unafraid 

1 brooded, 
Till th. tde 

'J brough the wall ich had made 

And the siege was thus concluded. 

n the army, e 

handing, 

( hilv Hot the '< t, 

ered, ere h- 
y curtl; it standing 

So it stood there all alone, 

flapping! torn and tattered, 
Till the brood wa ed and flown, 

Si 'er those walls of stone 

\\ hich the cannon-shot had shattered. 



THE TWO ANGELS. 

Is, one of Life and one of 

ith, 

Parsed o'er our village as the morn- 
ing broki 
The dawn was on their faces, and be- 
;th, 
The sombre houses hearsed with 
plumes of smoke. 

Their attitude and aspect were the 
same. 
Alike their features and their robes 

But one w. mod wilh amaranth, 

with flat 

And one w ith as] , like flakes oC 

light. 

, I saw them 1 n their celestial wa; 

Then said 1. with ad 

doubt 1 
" l'i Mud. my heart, lest tl 

The J laOC where tlr 
I 1" 

And he who wore the crown of aspho- 

Descending, at my door began 

And mj Inn me, as in wi 

'J hi an earth- . 

qualu 

I re< ognized I 1 y, 

II; 1 and the tremor and the 

in, 
That oft before had filled or haunted 

And now returned with threefold 
strength again. 

The d"<>r I opened to my heavenly 
gw 

And li trued, for I thought I heard 

('" re; 

And, knowing wh nt was 

I I ither to lament nor to re- 

joice. 

I hen with a smile, that filled the ho 
with light, 
" Mv errand ia not Death, but Life," 

he said; 



THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT NEWPORT. 



277 



And ere I answered, passing out of 
sight, 
On his celestial embassy he sped. 

'Twas at thy door, O friend ! and not 
at mine, 
The angel with the amaranthine 
wreath, 
Pausing, descended, and with voice 
divine, 
Whispered a word that had a sound 
like Death. 

Then fell upon the house a sudden 
gloom, 
A shadow on those features fair and 
thin ; 
And softly, from that hushed and dark- 
ened room, 
Two angels issued, where but one 
went in. 

All is of God! If he but wave his 
hand, 
The mists collect, the rain falls thick 
and loud, 
Till, with a smile of light on sea and 
land, 
Lo ! he looks back from the depart- 
ing cloud. 

Angels of Life arid Death alike are 
his ; 
Without his leave they pass no 
threshold o'er ; 
Who, then, would wish or dare, be- 
lieving this, 
Against his messengers to shut the 
door? 



DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT. 

In broad daylight, and at noon, 
Yesterday I saw the moon 
Sailing high, but faint and white, 
As a school-boy's paper kite. 

In broad daylight, yesterday, 
I read a Poet's mystic lay ; 
And it seemed to me at most 
As a phantom, or a ghost. 

But at length the feverish day 
Like a passion died away, 
And the night, serene and still, 
Fell on village, vale, and hill. 



Then the moon, in all her pride, 
Like a spirit glorified, 
Filled and overflowed the night 
With revelations of her light. 

And the Poet's song again 
Passed like music through my brain ; 
Night interpreted to me 
All its grace and mystery. 



THE JEWISH CEMETERY AT 
NEWPORT. 

How strange it seems ! These He- 
brews in their graves. 
Close by the street of this fair sea- 
port town, 
Silent beside the never-silent waves, 
At rest in all this moving up and 
down ! 

The trees are white with dust, that o'er 
their sleep 
Wave their broad curtains in the 
south-wind's breath, 
While underneath these leafy tents 
they keep 
The long, mysterious Exodus of 
Death. 

And these sepulchral stones, so old 
and brown, 
That pave with level flags their 
burial-place, 
Seem like the tablets of the Law, 
thrown down 
And broken by Moses at the moun- 
tain's base. 

The very names recorded here are 
strange, 
Of foreign accent, and of different 
climes ; 
Alvares and Rivera interchange 

With Abraham and Jacob of old 
times. 

" Blessed be God ! for he created 
Death ! " 
The mourners said, "and Death is 
rest and peace " ; 
Then added, in the certainty of faith, 
" And giveth Life that nevermore 
shall cease." 



27 s 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



Closed are the portals of their Syna- 
gogue. 
No Psalms of David now the silence 
break, 
N Rabbi reads the ancient Decalogue 
In the grand dialect the Prophets 
spake. 

Gone are the living, but the dead re- 
main. 
And not neglected ; for a hand un- 
seen, 
Scattering its bounty, like a summer 
rain, 
Still keeps their graves and their 
remembrance green. 

How came they here? What burst of 
Christian hate, 
What persecution, merciless and 
blind. 
Drove o'er the sea — that desert deso- 
late— 
These Ishmaels and Hagars of man- 
kind? 

They lived in narrow streets and lanes 
obscure. 
Ghetto and Judenstrass, in mirk and 
mire ; 
Taught in the school of patience to 
endure 
The life of anguish and the death of 
fire. 

All their lives long, with the unleavened 
bread 
And bitter herbs or exile and its 
fea 
The wasting famine of the heart they 
fed, 
And slaked its thirst with marah of 
their tears. 

Anathema maranatha ! was the cry 
That rang from town to town, from 
cet to street ; 
At even.- gate the accursed Mordecai 
Wa^ mocked and jeered, and spurned 
by Christian feet 

Pride and humiliation hand in hand 
Walked with them through the world 
where'er they went ; 
mpled and beaten were they as the 
sa 
And yet unshaken as the continent. 



For in the background figures vague 
and v. 
Of patriarchs and of prophets rose 
sublime. 
And all the great traditions of the Past 
They saw reflected in the com. 
time. 

And thus forever with reverted look 
The mystic volume of the world they 
read. 
Spelling it backward, like a Hebrew 
book, 
Tilltife became a Legend of the Dead. 

But ah ! what once has been shall be no 
more ! 
The groaning earth in travail and in 
pain 
Brings forth its races, but does not re- 
re. 
And the dead nations never rise again. 



OLIVER BASSELIN. 

Em the Valley of the Vire 

Mill is seen an ancient mill. 
V, th its gables quaint and queer, 
And beneath the window-sill, 
ne, 
These words alone : 
" Oliver Basselin lived here." 

Far above it, on the stet 

Ruined stands the old Ch.lteau ; 
Nothing but the donjon-keep 
Left tor si r ii-r >how. 

vacant eyes 
Stare at the skit 
Stare at the valley green and deep. 

Once a convent, old and brown, 
Looked, but ah ! it o more, 

n the neighboring hillside down 
n the rushing and the roar 
( >t the stream 
Whose sunny gleam 
Cheers the little Norman town. 

In that darksome mill o\ 

I din, 
* . Inimble, and unkm 

i ■.' the in 

that fill 
That indent mill 
:h a splendor of it^ own. 



VICTOR GALBRAITH. 



279 



Never feeling of unrest 

Broke the pleasant dream he dreamed ; 
Only made to be his nest. 
All the lovely valley seemed ; 
No desire 
Of soaring higher 
Stirred or fluttered in his breast. 

True, his songs were not divine ; 

Were not songs of that high art, 
Which, as winds do in the pine, 
Find an answer in each heart ; 
But the mirth 
Of this green earth 
Laughed and revelled in his line. 

From the alehouse and the inn, 
Opening on the narrow street, 
Came the loud, convivial din, 
Singing and applause of feet, 
The laughing la; 
That in those days 
Sang the poet Basseiin. 

In the castle, cased in steel, 

Knights, who fought at Agincourt, 
Watched and waited, spur on heel ; 
But the poet sang for sport 
Songs that rang 
Another clan 2, 
Songs that lowlier hearts could feel. 

In the convent, clad in gray, 

Sat the monks in lonely cells, 
Paced the cloisters, knelt to pray, 
And the poet heard their bells ; 
But his rhymes 
Found other chimes. 
Nearer to the earth than they. 

Gone are all the barons bold, 

Gone are all the knights and squires, 
Gone the abbot stern and cc 
And the brotherhood of friars; 
Not a name 
Remains to fame, 
From those mouldering days of old ! 

But the poet's memory here 

Of the landscape makes a part ; 
Like the river, swift and clear, 

Flows his song through many a heart; 
Haunting still 
That ancient mill, 
In the Vallev of the Vire. 



VICTOR GALBRAITH. 

L'nder the walls of Monterey 

At daybreak the bugles began to play, 

In the mist of the morning damp and 

gray* 
These were the words they seemed to 

say: 
" Come forth to thv death, 
Victor Galbraith ! " 

Forth he came, with a martial tread ; 
Firm was his step, erect his head ; 

Victor Ga.braith, 
He. who so well the bugle played, 
Could not mistake the words it said: 

1 ; Come forth to thv death, 

Victor Galbraith 

He looked at the earth, he looked at 

the sky, 
He looked at the files of musketry, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
And he said, with a steady voice and e 
" Take good aim ; I am ready to die . : ' 
Thus challenges death 
::or Galbraith. 

Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight 

and red, 
Six leaden balls on their errand sped ; 

Victor Galbraith 
Falls to the ground, but he is not dead ; 
His name was not stamped on those 
balls of lead, 
And they only scath 
Victor Galbraith. 

Three balls are in his breast and brain, 
But he rises out of the dust again, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
The water he drinks has a bloody stain ; 
'*' O kill me, and put me out of my 



pain 



. 55 



In his agony prayeth 
Victor Galbraitbl 

Forth dart once more those tongues of 

flame. 
And the bugler has died a death of 
shame, 
Victor Galbraith ! 
His soul has gone back to whence it 

came, 
And no one answers to the name, 
When the Strreant saith, 
" Victor Galbraith ! " 



280 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



Under the walls of Monterey 
By night a bugle is heard to play, 

Victor Galbraith ! 
Through the mist of the valley damp 

and gray 
The sentinels hear the sound, and say, 

" That is the wraith 

Of Victor Galbraith ! " 



MY LOST YOUTH. 

Often I think of the beautiful town 

That is seated by the sea ; 
Often in thought go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that dear old 
town, 
And my youth comes back to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory still : 
u A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 

And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
And islands that were the Hesperides 
Of all my boyish dreams. 

And the burden of that old song, 
It murmurs and whispers still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I remember the black wharves and 
the slips, 
And the sea-tides tossing free ; 
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of the ships, 
And the magic of the sea. 

And the voice of that wayward song 
Is singing and saying still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I remember the bulwarks bv the shore, 

And the fort upon the hill ; 
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar 
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, 
And the bugle wild and shrill. 
And the music of that old song 
Throbs in my memory still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 



I remember the sea-fight far away, 
How it thundered o'er the tide ! 
And the dead captains, as they lay 
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil 
bay, 
Where they in battle died. 

Andthesound of that mournful song 
Goes through me with a thrill : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I can see the breezy dome of groves, 
The shadows of Deering's Woods ; 
And the friendships old and the early 

loves 
Come back with a sabbath sound, as of 
doves 
In quiet neighborhoods. 
And theverse of that sweet old song, 
It flutters and murmurs still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

I remember the gleams and glooms that 
dart 
Across the school-boy's brain ; 
The song and the silence in the heart, 
That in part are prophecies, and in part 
Are longings wild and vain. 
And the voice of that fitful song 
Sings on, and is never still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

There are things of which I may not 
speak ; 
There are dreams that cannot die ; 
There are thoughts that make the strong 

heart weak, 
And bring a pallor into the cheek, 
And a mist before the eye. 

And the words of that fatal song 
Come over me like a chill : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

Strange to me now are the forms I meet 

When I visit the dear old town ; 
But the native air is pure and sweet, 
And the trees that o'ershadow each 
well-known street, 
As they balance up and down, 



THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE. 



281 



Are singing the beautiful song, 
Are sighing and whispering still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the 'thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 

And Deering's Woods are fresh and 
fair, 
And with joy that is almost pain 
My heart goes back to wander there, 
And among the dreams of the days 
that were, 
I find my' lost youth again. 
And the strange and beautiful song, 
The groves are repeating it still : 
" A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, 
long thoughts." 



THE ROPEWALK. 

In that building, long and low, 
With its windows all a-row, 

Like the port-holes of a hulk, 
Human spiders spin and spin, 
Backward down their threads so thin 

Dropping, each a hempen bulk. 

At the end, an open door ; 
Squares of sunshine on the floor 

Light the long and dusky lane ; 
And the whirring of a wheel, 
Dull and drowsy, makes me feel 

All its spokes are in my brain. 

As the spinners to the end 
Downward go and reascend, 

Gleam the long threads in the sun ; 
While within this brain of mine 
Cobwebs brighter and more fine 

By the busy wheel are spun. 

Two fair maidens in a swing, 
Like white doves upon the wing, 

First before my vision pass ; 
Laughing, as their gentle hands 
Closely clasp the twisted strands, 

At their shadow on the grass. 

Then a booth of mountebanks, 
With its smell of tan and planks, 

And a girl poised high in air 
On a cord, in spangled dress, 
With a faded loveliness, 

And a weary look of care. 



Then a homestead among farms, 
And a woman with bare arms 

Drawing water from a well ; 
As the bucket mounts apace, 
With it mounts her own fair face, 

As at some magician's spell. 

Then an old man in a tower, 
Ringing loud the noontide hour, 

While the rope coils round and round 
Like a serpent at his feet, 
And again, in swift retreat, 

Nearly lifts him from the ground. 

Then within a prison-yard, 
Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, 

Laughter and indecent mirth ; 
Ah ! it is the gallows-tree ! 
Breath of Christian charity, 

Blow, and sweep it from the earth ! 

Then a school-boy, with his kite 
Gleaming in a sky of light, 

And an eager, upward look ; 
Steeds pursued through lane and field ; 
Fowlers with their snares concealed ; 

And an angler by a brook. 

Ships rejoicing in the breeze, 
Wrecks that float o'er unknown seas, 

Anchors dragged through faithless 
sand ; 
Sea-fog drifting overhead, 
And, with lessening line and lead, 

Sailors feeling for the land. 

All these scenes do I behold, 
These, and many left untold, 

In that building long and low ; 
While the wheel goes round and round, 
With a drowsy, dreamy sound, 

And the spinners backward go. 



THE GOLDEN MILE-STONE. 

Leafless are the trees; their purple 

branches 
Spread themselves abroad, like reefs of 

coral, 
Rising silent 
In the Red Sea of the winter sunset. 

From the hundred chimneys of the 

village, 
Like the Afreet in the Arabian story, 

Smoky columns 
Tower aloft into the air of amber. 



2S2 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



At the window winks the flickering fire- 
light ; 

Here and there the lamps of evening 
glimmer, 
Social watch-fires 

Answering one another through the 
darkness. 

On the hearth the lighted logs are 

glowing. 
And like Ariel in the cloven pine-tree 

For its freedom 
Groans and sighs the air imprisoned in 
them. 

he fireside there are old men seated, 
Seeing ruined cities in the ashes, 

Uy 
Of the Past what it can ne'er restore 
them. 

By the fireside there are youthful dream- 
ers, 
Building castles fair, with stately stair- 
Asking blindly 
Of the Future what it cannot give them. 

the fireside tragedies are acted 
In wuose set :>pear two actors 

only, 
Wife and husband, 
And above them < tod the sole spectator. 

the fireside there are peace and 
comfort, 
Wives and children, with fair, thought- 
ful faces. 
Waiting, watchii 
For a well-known footstep in the pas- 
sage. 

Each man's chimney is his Golden 

M ile-stonc ; 
Is the central point, from which he 

measures 
Every distance 
Through the gateway! of the world 

around him. 

In his farthest wanderings still he sees 

it ; 
Hears the talking flame, the answering 

night-wind, 
he heard thera 
When he sat with those who wee, but 

are not. 



Happy he whom neither wealth nor 

fashion. 
Nor the march of the encroaching city, 

Drives an exile 
From the hearth of his ancestral home- 
stead. 

We may build more splendid habita- 
tions, 
Fill our rooms with paintings and with 
ulptures, 
But we cannot 
Buy with gold the old associations ! 



CATAWBA WINE. 

This song of mine 

Is a Song of the Vine, 
To be sung by the glowing embers 

( )t' wayside inns. 

When the rain begins 
To darken the drear Novembers. 

It is not a song 

( )\ the Scuppemong, 
From warm Carolinian valk 

Nor the Isabel 

And the Muscadel 
That bask in our garden alle 

>r the rcl Mustan 
Whose clusters h 
O'er the waves of the Colorado, 
(1 the fiery flood 
( )f whose purple blood 
i dash of Spanish bravado. 

For richest and 1 
I ihe wine of the W< 
That by the Beautiful River; 

Who- itume 

Fills all the room 
With a benison on the giver. 

And as hollow trees 
Arc the haunts -'i 1>< i 
Fon ling and cornin 

So tin \\ hive 

!1 alive 
With a swarming and buzzing and hum- 
mii 

I in its way 

( )r tin si!', and creamy ; 

Bui i 

Has a ' ore divine. 

More dulcet, delicious, and dreamy. 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE NORTH CAPE. 



283 



There grows no vine 

By the haunted Rhine, 
By Danube or Guadalquivir, 

Nor on island or cape, 

That bears such a grape 
As grows by the Beautiful River. 

Drugged is their juice 

For foreign use, 
When shipped o'er the reeling Atlantic, 

To rack our brains 

With the fever pains, 
That have driven the Old World frantic. 

To the sewers and sinks 

With all such drinks, 
And after them tumble the mixer ; 

For a poison malign 

Is such Borgia wine, 
Or at best but a Devil's Elixir. 

While pure as a spring 

Is the wine I sing, 
And to praise it, one needs but name it ; 

For Catawba wine 

Has need of no sign, 
No tavern-bush to proclaim it. 

And this Song of the Vine, 

This greeting of mine, 
The winds and the birds shall deliver 

To the Queen of the West, 

In her garlands dressed, 
On the banks of the Beautiful River. 



SANTA FILOMENA. 

Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, 
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, 

Our hearts, in glad surprise, 

To higher levels rise. 

The tidal wave of deeper souls 
Into our inmost being rolls, 

And lifts us unawares 

Out of all meaner cares. 

Honor to those whose words or deeds 
Thus help us in our daily needs, 
And by their overflow 
Raise us from what is low ! 

Thus thought I, as by night I read 
Of the great army of the dead, 
The trenches cold and damp, 
The starved and frozen camp, — 



The wounded from the battle-plain, 

In dreary hospitals of pain, 
The cheerless corridors, 
The cold and stony floors. 

Lo ! in that house of misery 

A lady with a lamp I see 

Pass through the glimmeringgloom, 
And flit from room to room. 

And slow, as in a dream of bliss, 
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss 
Her shadow, as it falls 
Upon the darkening walls. 

As if a door in heaven should be 
Opened and then closed suddenly, 
The vision came and went, 
The light shone and was spent. 

On England's annals, through the long 
Hereafter of her speech and song, 
That light its rays shall cast 
From portals of the past. 

A Lady with a Lamp shall stand 
In the great history of the land, 

A noble type of good, 

Heroic womanhood. 

Nor even shall be wanting herj* 
The palm, the lily, and the spear, 

The symbols that of yore 

Saint Filomena bore. 



THE DISCOVERER OF THE 
NORTH CAPE. 

A LEAF FROM KING ALFRED'S OROSIUS. 

Othere, the old sea-captain, 

Who dwelt in Helgoland, 
To King Alfred, the Lover of Truth, 
Brought a snow-white walrus-tooth, 

Which he held in his brown right 
hand. 

His figure was tall and stately, 
Like a boy's his eye appeared ; 

His hair was yellow as hay, 

But threads of a silvery gray 
Gleamed in his tawny beard. 

Hearty and hale was Othere, 
His cheek had the color of oak ; 

With a kind of laugh in his speech, 

Like the sea-tide of a beach, 
As unto the King he spoke. 



284 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



And Alfred, King of the Saxons, 
Had a book upon his knees, 

And wrote down the wondrous tale 

Of him who was first to sail 
Into the Arctic seas. 

" So far I live to the northward, 

No man lives north of me ; 
To the east are wild mountain-chains, 
And beyond them meres and plains ; 

To the westward all is sea. 

" So far I live to the northward, 
From the harbor of Skeringes-hale, 

If you only sailed by day, 

With a fair wind all the way, 

More than a month would you sail. 

" I own six hundred reindeer, 

With sheep and swine beside ; 
I have tribute from the Finns, 
Whalebone and reindeer-skins, 
And ropes of walrus-hide. 

" I ploughed the land with horses, 
But my heart was ill at ease ; 

For the old seafaring men 

Came to me now and then, 
With their sagas of the seas ; — 

" Of Iceland and of Greenland, 

And flie stormy Hebrides, 
And the undiscovered deep ; — 

I could not eat nor sleep 
For thinking of those seas. 

"To the northward stretched the desert, 

How far I fain would know ; 
So at last I sallied forth, 
And three days sailed due north, 
As far as the whale-ships go. 

"To the west of me was the ocean, 
To the right the desolate shore, 

But I did not slacken sail 

For the walrus or the whale, 
Till after three days more. 

"The days grew longer and longer, 

Till they became as one, 
And southward through the haze 

1 saw the sullen blaze 

Of the red midnight sun. 

" And then uprose before me, 

Upon the water's edge, 
The huge and haggard shape 
Of that unknown North Cape, 

Whose form is like a wedge. 



" The sea was rough and stormy, 
The tempest howled and wailed, 

And the sea-fog, like a ghost, 

Haunted that dreary coast, 
But onward still I sailed. 

" Four days I steered to eastward, 

Four days without a night : 
Round in a fiery ring 
Went the great sun, O King, 
With red and lurid light." 

Here Alfred, King of the Saxons, 

Ceased writing for a while ; 
And raised his eyes from his book, 
With a strange and puzzled look, 
And an incredulous smile. 

But Othere, the old sea-captain, 
He neither paused nor stirred, 

Till the King listened and then 

Once more took up his pen, 
And wrote down every word. 

"And now the land," said Othere, 
" Bent southward suddenly, 

And I followed the curving shore 

And ever southward bore 
Into a nameless sea. 

"And there we hunted the walrus, 
The narwhale, and the seal ; 

Ha ! 't was a noble game ! 

And like the lightning's flame 
Flew our harpoons of steel. 

" There were six of us all together, 

Norsemen of Helgoland ; 
In two days and no more 
We killed of them threescore, 

And dragged them to the strand 1 " 

Here Alfred the Truth-Teller 

Suddenly closed his book, 
And lifted his blue eyes, 
With doubt and strange surmise 

Depicted in their look. 

And Othere the old sea-captain 
Stared at him wild and weird, 
Then smiled, till his shining teeth 
Gleamed white from underneath 
His tawny, quivering beard. 

And to the King of the Saxons, 

In witness of the truth, 
Raising his noble head, 
He stretched his brown hand, and said, 

" Behold this walrus-tooth i " 



CHILDRi 



285 



D WI-.KI. \K. 

1 for 

im 

It h on, 

Ye rnari 

1 landward far 
5, • A it is the da 

it ! 
ill your leafy banners on: 

I • ' d bird's folded wine:, 

And o'er the farms " < > ( hantic' 

ir clarion blow ; the day is near." 

whispered to the fields of corn. 
•• Bon down, and hail the coming 
morn." 

houted through the belfry-tower, 

ell! proclaim the hour." 

It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, 
•And said, " Not yet ! in quiet 1; 



THE FIFTIETH r.IRTHDAYOF 
AGASSIZ. 

may 38, 1S57. 

It was fifty yean 

In the it month of M 

In the ; de VaikI, 

A child in its cradle lay. 

tore, the old Dorse, took 

>n her knee, 

tory-book 
y Father h en for thee." 

-•me, wander with me." she said, 
"I 1 : 

And read whit is id 

In the nn u 1." 

And 

. the d 

At eemed long, 

iil, 

lerful song. 



So :1 a child, 

\ 1 will not let him 
Though at tii: 'd 

I 1 r the beautiful 1 1 ; 

1 dreams 

The Kai d, 

touotaio streams 
1 rom glaciei Id; 

it home says, " Hark ! 
I or his voice I listen and yeani ; 
It i ng late and dark, 

1 my boy dues not return ! " 



CHILDREN. 

MB to me, O ye childr 
For I hear you at your play, 

1 the questions th ted me 

1 [ave vanished quite 

Ye open the eastern windows, 

That look towards the sun, 
Where thoughts a allows 

And the brooks of morning run. 

In your hearts are the birds and the 
sunshine, # 

In your thoughts the brooklet's th 
ill mine is the wind of Autumn 
id the first fall of the snow. 

Ah ! what would the world he to us 
If the children were no mor 

We should dread the desert behind us 
Worse than the dark bei 

What the leaves arc to the fore 
W ith light and air for f< 
• their md tender iui< 

Have been hardened into wood, — 

That to th_- world are childr 
1 hrough them it feels tl: 

and stiniii. ite 

-.lie trunks be! 

d whimper in mv 1 
W the birds and tl ging 

In your s in n 

I r what are all our contrivings, 
1 the wisdom i>\ our I 

When 

gladnes 



2S6 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



Ye are better than all the ballads 
That ever were sung or said ; 

For ye are living poems, 
And all the rest are dead. 



SANDALPHOX. 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 
In the Legends the Rabbins have told 

Of the limitless realms of the air. 
Have you read it, — the marvellousstory 
-andalphon, the Angel of Glory, 

Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer? 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
he City Celestial he waits, 
With • on the ladder of light, 

That, crowded with angels unnum- 
bered, 

I seen, as he slumbered 
one in the divert at night ? 

The Angels of Wind and of Fire 
Chant only one hymn, and expire 

With the istible stress ; 

I ire in their rapture and wonder, 
Aa harp-sti n asunder 

By music they throb to expi 

r.nt serene in the rapturous throng, 
I moved by the rush of the 

With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
Among the dead angels, the deathle 
Sandalphon fttands 1 breathless 

To sounds thi nd from below ; — 

From the spirits on earth that adore, 
From the souls that entreat and implore 
In the fervor and on ofprayer ; 

in the hearts that are broken with 

And weary with dragging the crosses 
Too heavy for mortals to bear. 

And he gathers the prayers as he stands, 
And t! inge into flowers in his 

hands, 
Into garlands of purple and red ; 
And beneath tl I arch ofthe portal, 

Through the streets of the City Im- 
mortal 
Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

It is but a legend, I know, — 
A fable, a phantom, a show, 



Ofthe ancient Rabbinical lore ; 
Yet the old mediaeval tradition, 
The beautiful, strange -tition, 

But haunts me and holds me the 
more. 

When I look from my window at night, 
And the welkin above is all whi 

All throbbing and panting with ^tars, 
ung them majestic is standing 
idalphon the angel, expai 
His pinions in nebulous bars. 

And the legend, I feel, is a part 
Ofthe hunger and thirst ofthe heart, 

The frenzy and fire ofthe brain, 
That grasps at the fruitage f< rbidden, 
The golden granaU '.en, 

To quiet l. and pain. 



EPIMETHEUS, 

OR THE POET'S AFTERTHOUGHT. 

Have I dreamed? 1 it real, 

What I saw as in a vision, 
When to marches hyi 

In the land oi the [deal 
Moved my thought o'er Fields Ely- 
m? 

What ! are these the guests whose 
glances 
Seemed like sunshine gleaming round 
ni< 
These the wild, bewildering fancies, 
That with dithyrambic < 

with magic circles hound me? 

Ah ! how cold are their i s ! 

Pallid » heeks, ai d 1 1 bosoms ! 

ctral gleamth< whited 

And from It 

Fall the hyacinthine bio 

ome measures 

led my heart wit! 
Children of mj 

;ir delishta and pleasures 

!e and perish with the capture? 

Fair they seemed, tho 
When they came to me unbiddi 

le, and in < hoi us 
Like the wild! us 

In the dark of bi . hidden. 



THE WAYSIDE INN. 



287 



Disenchantment ! Disillusion ! 

Must each noble aspiration 
Come at last to this conclusion, 
Jarring discord, wild confusion, 

Lassitude, renunciation ? 

Not with steeper fall nor faster, 
From the sun's serene dominions, 

Not through brighter realms nor vaster, 

In swift ruin and disaster, 

Icarus fell with shattered pinions ! 

Sweet Pandora ! dear Pandora ! 

Why did mighty Jove create thee 
Coy as Thetis, fair as Flora, 
Beautiful as young Aurora, 

If to win thee is to hate thee? 

No, not hate thee ! for this feeling 
Of unrest and long resistance 

Is but passionate appealing, 

A prophetic whisper stealing 
O'er the chords of our existence. 

Him whom thou dost once enamor, 
Thou, beloved, never leavest ; 



In life's discord, strife, and clamor, 
Still he feels thy spell of glamour; 
Him of Hope thou ne'er bereavest. 

Weary hearts by thee are lifted, 

Struggling souls by thee are strength- 
ened, 
Clouds of fear asunder rifted, 
Truth from falsehood cleansed and sift- 
ed, 
Lives, like days in summer, length- 
ened ! 

Therefore art thou ever dearer, 

O my Sibyl, my deceiver ! 
For thou makest each mystery clearer, 
And the unattained seems nearer, 

When thou fillest my heart with fe- 
ver ! 

Muse of all the Gifts and Graces ! 

Though the fields around us wither, 
There are ampler realms and spaces, 
Where no foot has left its traces : 

Let us turn and wander thither I 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



1863. 



PRELUDE. 



THE WAYSIDE INN. 



One Autumn night, in Sudbury town, 
Across the meadows bare and brown, 
The windows of the wayside inn 
Gleamed red with fire-light through the 

leaves 
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves 
Their crimson curtains rent and thin. 

As ancient is this hostelry 
As any in the land may be, 
Built in the old Colonial day, 
When men lived in a grander way, 
With ampler hospitality ; 
A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall, 
Now somewhat fallen to decay, 
With weather-stains upon the wall, 
And stairways worn, and crazy doors, 
And creaking and uneven floors, 
And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall. 



A region of repose it seems, 
A place of slumber and of dreams, 
Remote among the wooded hills ! 
For there no noisy railway speeds, 
Its torch-race scattering smoke and 

gleeds ; 
But noon and night, the panting teams 
Stop under the great oaks, that throw 
Tangles of light and shade below, 
On roofs and doors and window-sills. 
Across the road the barns display 
Their lines of stalls, their mows of hay, 
Through the wide doors the breezes 

blow, 
The wattled cocks strut to and fro, 
And, half effaced by rain and shine, 
The Red Horse prances on the sign. 

Round this old-fashioned, quaint abode 
Deep silence reigned, save when a gust 
Went rushing down the county road, 
And skeletons of leaves, and dust, 



2SS 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



A moment quickened by its breath, 
Shuddered and danced' their dance of 

death, 
And through the ancient oaks o'erhead 
Mysterious voices moaned and fled. 

But from the parlor of the inn 

A pleasant murmur smote the ear, 

Like water rushing through a weir; 

( )U interrupted by the din 

Of laughter and of loud applause, 

And, in each intervening pause, 

The music of a violin. 

The fire-light, shedding over all 

The splendor of its ruddy glow, 

Filled the whole parlor large and low ; 

It gleamed on wainscot and on wall, 

It t niched with more than wonted grace 

Fair Princess Mary's pictured face ; 

It bronzed the rafters overhead, 

On the ory keys 

It played inaudible melon 

It crowned the sombre clock with flame, 

The hands the hours, themaker's name, 

And painted with a livelier red 

The Landlord's coat-of-anns again ; 

And, flashing on the window-pane, 

ed with its light and shade 
The jovial rhymes, that still remain, 

: near a century a 
By the j neaux, 

Whom Hawthorne has immortal made. 

Before the blazing fire of 
Erect the rapt musician stood ; 
And ever and anon he bent 
His head upon his instrument, 
And ten, till he car 

et thought, — 
The the triumph, the lament, 
The exultation and the pain ; 
Then, bv the macic of his art, 

•bed the throb' fits heart, 

And lulled it into peace again. 

Around the fireside at tluir ease 

. entranced 

Who from the far iwn 

i le inn come down, 

inced, 

And, t of different landi and 

speech, 



Each had his tale to tell, and each 
Was anxious to be pleased and please. 
And while the sweet musician plays, 
Let me in outline sketch them ail, 
Perchance uncouthly as the blaze 
With its uncertain touch portrays 
Their shadowy semblance on the wall. 

But first the Landlord will I trace ; 
Grave in his aspect and attire ; 
A man of ancient pedigree, 
A Justice of the Peace was he, 
Known in all Sudbury as "The Squire." 
Proud was he of his name and race, 
Of old Sir William and Sir Hugh, 
And in the parlor, full in view, 
His coat-of-anns, well framed and 
glazed, 
n the wall in colors blazed ; 
He beareth gules upon his shield, 
A chevron argent in the field, 
With three wolf's heads, and for the 

crest 
A Wyvern part-per-pale addressed 

on a helmet barred ; below 
The scroll reads, the name of 

Howe 
And over this, no longer bri ;ht, 
Though glimmering with a latent light, 
hung the sword h dsirebore 

the rebellious flays of yore, 
! n there at Concord in the fight. 

OUth was there, of quiet ww. 
Student ind d<-\ 

To whom all I ad lands were 

wn 
yet a lover of his own ; 
With m raced, 

And ye; litude ; 

A man of such a genial m< 
The h ill things he embraced, 

And >' 
II never found tl 

n and delight, 
me 

ne, 
In vellum bound, with 

it volui 'merited in white, 

He loved the twilight that surrounds 
The border-Ian 
Where glitter hauberk. 

I 
And ladies rid*. 



THE WAYSIDE INN 



289 



And mighty warriors sweep along, 
Magnified by the purple mist, 
The dusk of centuries and of song. 
The chronicles of Charlemagne, 
Of Merlin and the Mort d'Arthure, 
Mingled together in his brain 
With tales of Flores and Blanchefleur, 
Sir Ferumbras, Sir Eglamour, 
Sir Launcelot, Sir Morgadour, 
Sir Guy, Sir Bevis, Sir Gawain. 

A young Sicilian, too, was there ; 

In sight of Etna born and bred, 

Some breath of its volcanic air 

Was glowing in his heart and brain, 

And, being rebellious to his liege, 

After Palermo's fatal siege, 

Across the western seas he fled, 

In good King Bomba's happy reign. 

His face was like a summer night, 

All flooded with a dusky light ; 

His hands were small ; his teeth shone 

white 
As sea-shells, when he smiled or spoke ; 
His sinews supple and strong as oak ; 
Clean shaven was he as a priest, 
Who at the mass on Sunday sings, 
Save that upon his upper lip 
His beard, a good palm's length at least, 
Level and pointed at the tip, 
Shot sideways, like a swallow's wings. 
The poets read he o'er and o'er, 
And most of all the Immortal Four 
Of Italy ; and next to those, 
The story-telling bard of prose, 
Who wrote the joyous Tuscan tales 
Of the Decameron, that make 
Fiesole's green hills and vales 
Kemembered for Boccaccio's sake. 
Much too of music was his thought ; 
The melodies and measures fraught 
With sunshine and the open air, 
Of vineyards and the singing sea 
Of his beloved Sicily ; 
And much it pleased him to peruse 
The songs of the Sicilian muse, — 
Bucolic songs by Meli sung 
In the familiar peasant tongue, 
That made men say, " Behold ! once 

more 
The pitying gods to earth restore 
Theocritus of Syracuse ! " 

A Spanish Jew from Alicant 
With aspect grand and grave was there ; 

19 



Vender of silks and fabrics rare, 
And attar of rose from the Levant. 
Like an old Patriarch he appeared, 
Abraham or Isaac, or at least 
Some later Prophet or High- Priest ; 
With lustrous eyes, and olive skin, 
And, wildly tossed from cheeks and chin, 
The tumbling cataract of his beard. 
His garments breathed a spicy scent 
Of cinnamon and sandal blent, 
Like the soft aromatic gales 
That meet the mariner, who sails 
Through the Moluccas, and the seas 
That wash the shores of Celebes. 
All stories that recorded are 
By Pierre Alphonse he knew by heart, 
And it was rumored he could say 
The Parables of Sandabar, 
And all the Fables of Pilpay, 
Or if not all, the greater part ! 
Well versed was he in Hebrew books, 
Talmud and Targum, and the lore 
Of Kabala ; and evermore 
There was a mystery in his looks ; 
His eyes seemed gazing faraway, 
As if in vision or in trance 
He heard the solemn sackbut play, 
And saw the Jewish maidens dance. 

A Theologian, from the school 

Of Cambridge on the Charles, was 

there ;' 
Skilful alike with tongue and pen, 
He preached to all men everywhere 
The Gospel of the Golden Rule, 
The New Commandment given to men, 
Thinking the deed, and not the creed, 
Would help us in our utmost need. 
With reverent feet the earth he trod, 
Nor banished nature from his plan, 
But studied still with deep research 
To build the Universal Church, 
Lofty as is the love of God, 
And ample as the wants of man. 

A Poet, too, was there, whose verse 

Was tender, musical, and terse ; 

The inspiration, the delight, 

The gleam, the glory, the swift flight, 

Of thoughts so sudden, that they seem 

The revelations of a dream, 

All these were his ; but with them came 

No envy of another's fame ; 

He did not find his sleep less sweet 

For music in some neighboring street, 



290 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Nor rustling hear in every breeze 
The laurels of Miltiades. 
Honor and blessings on his head 
While living, good report when dead, 
Who, not too eager for renown. 
Accepts, but does not clutch, the crown ! 

Last the Musician, as he stood 
Illumined by that tire of wood ; 
Fair-haired, blue-eyed, his aspect 

blithe. 
His figure tall and straight and lithe, 
And every feature of his face 
Revealing his Norwegian race : 
A radiance, streaming from within, 
Around his eyes and forehead beamed, 
The Angel with the violin, 
Painted by Raphael, he seemed. 
He lived in that ideal world 
Whose language is not speech, but 

sor 
Around him evermore the throng 
Of elves and sprites their dances 

whirled ; 
The Stromkarl sang, the cataract hurled 
Its headlong waters from the height ; 
And mingled in the wiid delight 
The scream of sea-birds in their flight, 
The rumor of the forest trees. 
The plunge of the implacable seas, 
The tumult of the wind at night, 
Voices of eld, like trumpets blowing, 
Old ballads, and wild melodies 
Through mist and darkness pouring 

th, 
Like Elivagar's river flowing 
Out of the glaciers of the North. 

The instrument on which he played 

Was in Cremona's workshop! made, 

By a great master of the past, 

Ere yet was lost the art divine ; 

Fashioned of maple and of pine, 

That in Tyrol ian forests vast 

Had rocked and wrestled with the blast : 

liiisite was it in design, 
Perfect in each minutest part, 
A marvel of the lutist's art ; 
And in its hollow chamber, thus, 
The maker from whose hands it came 
II id written his unrivalled name, — 
" Vntonius Stradivarius." 

hen he played, the atmosphere 
- h'.led with magic, a.d the ear 



Caught echoes of that Harp of Gold, 
Whose music had so weird a sound, 
The hunted stag forgot to bound, 
The leaping rivulet backward rolled, 
The birds came down from bush and 

tree, 
The dead came from beneath the sea, 
The maiden to the harper's knee ! 

The music ceased ; the applause was 

loud, 
The pleased musician smiled and 

bowed ; 
The wood-tire clapped its hands of 

flame, 
The shadows on the wainscot stirred, 
And from the harpsichord there came 
A ghostly murmur of acclaim, 
A sound like that sent down at night 
By birds of passage in their flight, 
From the remotest distance heard. 

Then silence followed ; then began 
A clamor for the landlord's tale, — ■ 
The story promised them of old, 
'I hey said, but always left untold ; 
And he, although a bashful man, 
And all his courage seemed to fail, 
Finding excuse 01 no avail, 
Yielded ; and thus the story ran. 



THE LANDLORD'S TALE. 

PAUL REVI.Ki;'s HIDE. 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 
the midnight ride of Paul Etevei 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy- 
five : 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and 
year. 

He said to his friend, "If the British 

march 
By land or sea from the town to-night, 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 
Of the North Church tower nil 

light- — 
One, if by land, and two. if by sea ; 
And I on the opposite shore will 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Mtod - illage and 

farm. 
For the country-folk to be up and to 

arm." 



PAUL RE VE RE'S RIDE. 



291 



Then he said, " Good night I " and 

with muffled oar 
Silentlyrowed to the Charlestown shore, 
Just as the moon rose over the bay, 
Where swinging wide at her moorings 

lay 
The Somerset, British man-of-war ; 
A phantom ship, with each mast and 

spar 
Across the moon like a prison bar, 
And a huge black hulk, that was mag- 
nified 
By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley 

and street, 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of 

feet, 
And the measured tread of the grena- 
diers, 
Marching down to their boats on the 
shore. 

Then he climbed the tower of the Old 

North Church, 
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy 

tread, 
To the belfry-chamber overhead, 
And startled the pigeonsfrom their perch 
On the sombre rafters, that round him 

made 
Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 
To the highest window in the wall, 
Where he paused to listen and look 

down 
A moment on the roofs of the town, 
And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the 

dead, 
In their night-encampment on the hill, 
Wrapped in silence so deep and still 
That he could hear, like a sentinel's 

tread, 
The watchful night-wind, as it went 
Creeping along from tent to tent, 
And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! " 
A moment only he feels the spell 
Of the place and the hour, and the 

secret dread 
Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 



For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 
On a shadowy something far away, 
Where the river widens to meet the 

bay, — 
A line of black that bends and floats 
On the rising tide, like a bridge of 

boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and 

ride, 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the opposite shore walked Paul 

Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side, 
Now gazed at the landscape far and 

near, 
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, 
And turned and tightened his saddle- 
girth ; 
But mostly hewatched with eager search 
The belfry tower of the Old North 

Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and 

still. 
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's 

height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he 

turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his 

sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns ! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in 

the dark, 
And beneath, from the pebbles, in pass- 
ing, a spark 
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and 

fleet : 
That was all ! And yet, through the 

gloom and the light, 
The fate of a nation was riding that 

night ; 
And the spark struck out by that steed, 

in his flight, 
Kindled the land into flame with its 

heat. 

He has left the village and mounted 

the steep, 
And beneath him, tranquil and broad 

and deep, 
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides.; 



292 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE I XX. 



And under the alders, that skirt its edge, 
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the 

ledge, 
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he 

rides. 

It was twelve by the village clock 
When he crossed the bridge into Med- 

ford town. 
He heard the crowing of the cock, 
And the barking of the farmer's dog, 
And felt the damp of the river fog, 
That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock, 
When he galloped into Lexington. 
He saw the gilded weathercock 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 
And the meeting-house windows, blank 

and bare, 
Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 
As if they already stood aghast 
At the bloody work they would look 

upon. 

It was two by the village clock, 
When he came to the bridge in Con- 
cord town. 
He heard the bleating of the flock, 
And the twitter of birds among the trees, 
And felt the breath of the morning 

breeze 
Blowing over the meadows brown. 
And one was safe and asleep in his bed 
Who at the bridge would be first to fall, 
Who that clay would be lying dead, 
Pierced by a British musket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books you 

have read, 
How the British Regulars fired and 

fled, — 
How the farmers gave them ball for 

ball, 
From behind each fence and farm-yard 

wall, 
Chasing the red-coats down the lane, 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road, 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Re- 
vere ; 

And so through the night went his cry 
of alarm 

To every Middlesex village and farm, — 



A cry of defiance and not of fear, 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the 

door, 
And a word that shall echo forever- 
more ! 
For, borne on the night-wind of the 

Past, 
Through all our history, to the last, 
In the hour of darkness and peril and 

need, 
The people will waken and listen to 

hear 
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, 
And the midnight message of Paul 
Revere. 



INTERLUDE. 

The Landlord ended thus his tale, 
Then rising took down from its nail 
The sword that hung there, dim with 

dust, 
And deriving to its sheath with rust, 
And said, "This sword was in the 

fight.'; 

The Poet seized it, and exclaimed, 
" It is the sword of a good knight, 
Though homespun was his coat-of- 

mail ; 
What matter if it be not named 
Joyeuse, Colada, Durindale, 
Kxcalibar, or Aroundiuht, 
Or other name the books record ? 
Your ancestor, who bore this sword 
As Colonel of the Volunteers, 
Mounted upon his old gray mare, 
Seen here and there and everywhere, 
To me a grander shape appears 
Than old Sir William, or wh.it not, 
Clinking about in foreign lands 
With iron gauntlets on his hands, 
And on his head an iron pot ! " 

All lauehed ; the Landlord's face grew 

red * 

As his escutcheon on the wall ; 
He could not comprehend at all 
The drift of what the Poet said ; 
For those who had been longesl dead 
Were always greatest in his eyes ; 
And he was speechless with surprise 
To see Sir William's plumed head 
Brought to a level with the n 
And made the subject of a jest. 



THE FALCON OF SER FE DERI GO. 



293 



And this perceiving, to appease 
The Landlord's wrath, the others' fears, 
The Student said, with careless ease, 
"The ladies and the cavaliers, 
The arms, the loves, the courtesies, 
The deeds of high emprise, I sing ! 
Thus Ariosto says, in words 
That have the stately stride and ring 
Of armed knights and clashing swords. 
Now listen to the tale" I bring ; 
Listen ! though not to me belong 
The flowing draperies of his song, 
The words that rouse, the voice that 

charms. 
The Landlord's tale was one of arms, 
Only a tale of love is mine, 
Blending the human and divine, 
A tale of the Decameron, told 
In Palmieri's garden old, 
By Fiametta, laurel-crowned, 
While her companions lay around, 
And heard the intermingled sound 
Of airs that on their errands sped, 
And wild-birds gossiping overhead, 
And lisp of leaves, and fountain's fall, 
And her own voice more sweet than all, 
Telling the tale, which, wanting these, 
Perchance mayloseits power to please." 



THE STUDENT'S TALE. 

THE FALCON OF SER FEDERIGO. 

One summer morning, when the sun 

was hot, 
Weary with labor in his garden-plot, 
On a rude bench beneath his cottage 

eaves, 
Ser Federigo sat among the leaves 
Of a huge vine, that, with its arms out- 
spread, 
Hung its delicious clusters overhead. 
Below him, through the lovely valley, 

flowed 
The river Arno, like a winding road, 
And from itsbanks were lifted high in air 
The spires and roofs of Florence called 

the Fair; 
To him a marble tomb, tlat rose above 
His wasted fortunes and his buried love. 
For there, in banquet and in tourna- 
ment, 
His wealth had lavished been, his sub- 
stance spent, - 



To woo and lose, since ill his wooing 

sped, 
Monna Giovanna, who his rival wed, 
Yet ever in his fancy reigned supreme, 
The ideal woman of a young man's 

dream. 

Then he withdrew, in poverty and pain, 
To this small farm, the last of his do- 
main, 
His only comfort and his only care 
To prune his vines, and plant the fig 

and pear ; 
His only forester and only guest 
His falcon, faithful to him, when the 

rest, 
Whose willing hands had found so light 

of yore 
The brazen knocker of his palace door, 
Had now no strength to lift the wooden 

latch, 
That entrance gave beneath a roof of 

thatch. 
Companion of his solitary ways, 
Purveyor of his feasts on holidays, 
On him this melancholy man bestowed 
The love with which his nature over- 
flowed. 

And so the empty-handed years went 

round, 
Vacant, though voiceful with prophetic 

sound, 
And so, that summer morn, he sat and 

mused 
With folded, patient hands, as he was 

used, 
And dreamily before his half-closed 

sight 
Floated the vision of his lost delight. 
Beside him, motionless, the drowsy 

bird 
Dreamed of the chase, and in his slum- 
ber heard 
The sudden, scythe-like sweep of wings, 

that dare 
The headlong plunge through eddying 

gulfs of air, 
Then, starting broad awake upon his 

perch, 
Tinkled his bells, like mass-bells in a 

church, 
And, looking at his master, seemed to 

say, 
" Ser Federigo, snail we hunt to-day? " 



294 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



Ser Federigo thought not of the chase ; 
The tender vision of her lovely face, 
I will not say he seems to see, he sees 
In the leaf-shadows of the trellises, 
Herself, yet not herself; a lovely child 
"\\ ;;h flowing tresses, and eyes wide and 

wild. 
Coming undaunted up the garden walk, 
And looking not at him, but at the 

hawk. 
" Beautiful falcon ! " said he, "would 

that I 
Might hold thee on my wrist or see thee 

fly ! " 
The voice was hers, and made strange 

echoes start 
Through all the haunted chambers of 

his heart, 
As an aeolian harp through gusty doors 
Of some old ruin its wild music pours. 

"Who is thy mother, my fair boy?" 

he said. 
His hand laid softly on that shining 

head 
"Monna Giovanna. Will you let me 

stay 
A little while, and with your falcon 

play? 
We live there, just beyond your garden 

wall, 
In the meat house behind the pop 

tall." 

So he spake on ; and Federigo heard 
from afar each softly uttered word, 
And drifted onward through the golden 

gleams 
And shadows of the misty sea of dreams. 
As mariners becalmed through vapors 

drift, 
And feel the sea beneath them sink 

and lift, 
And hear far off the mournful breakers 

ro.ir, 
And voices calling faintly from the 

shore ! 
Then, waking from his pleasant rever- 
ies. 
He took the little boy upon his knees, 
And told him stories of his gallant 

bird, 
Till in their friendship he became a 

third. 



Monna Giovanna, widowed in her 

prime, 
Had come with friends to pass the 

summer-time 
In her grand villa, half-way up the hill, 
O'erlooking Florence, but retired and 

still ; 
With iron gates, that opened through 

long lines 
Of sacred ilex and centennial pines. 
And terraced gardens, and broad steps 

of stone, 
And sylvan deities, with moss o'er- 

grown, 
And fountains palpitating in the heat, 
And all Val d'Arno stretched beneath 

its feet. 
Here in seclusion, as a widow may. 
The lovely lady whiled the hours away, 
Pacing in sable robes the statued hall, 
Herself the stateliest statue among all, 
And seeing more and more, with se- 
cret joy. 
Her husband risen and living in her boy. 
Till the lost sense of life returned 

again, 
Not as delight, but as relief from pain. 
Meanwhile the boy, rejoicing in his 

strength. 
Stormed down the terraces from length 

to length ; 
The screaming peacock chased in hot 

pursuit, 
And climbed the garden trellises for 

fruit. 
But his chief pastime was to watch the 

flight 
Of a gerfalcon, soaring into sight, 
Beyond the trees that fringed the gar- 
den wall, 
Then downward stooping at some dis- 
tant call : 
And as he gazed full often wondered he 
Who might the master of the falcon be. 
Until that happy morning, when he 

found 
Master and falcon in the cottage ground. 

And now a shadow and a terror fell 
On the great house, as if a passing-bell 
Tolled from the tower, and filled each 

spacious room 
With secret awe, and preternatural 

gloom ; 



THE FALCON OF SER FE DERI GO. 



29S 



The petted boy grew ill, and day by 
day 

Pined with mysterious malady away. 

The mother's heart would not be com- 
forted ; 

Her darling seemed to her already dead, 

And often, sitting by the sufferer's side, 

"What can I do to comfort thee?" 
she cried. 

At first the silent lips made no reply, 

But, moved at length by her importu- 
nate cry, 

"Give me," he answered, with im- 
ploring tone, 

" Ser Fedengo's falcon for my own ! " 

No answer could the astonished mother 
make ; 

How could she ask, e'en for her dar- 
ling's sake, 

Such favor at a luckless lover's hand, 

Well knowing that to ask was to com- 
mand? 

Well knowing, what all falconers con- 
fessed, 

In all the land that falcon was the best, 

The master's <f)ride and passion and 
delight, 

And the sole pursuivant of this poor 
knight. 

But yet, for her child's sake, she could 
no less 

Than give assent, to soothe his restless- 
ness, 

So promised, and then promising to 
keep 

Her promise sacred, saw him fall asleep. 

The morrow was a bright September 

morn ; 
The earth was beautiful as if new-born ; 
There was that nameless splendor 

everywhere, 
That wild exhilaration in the air, 
Which makes the passers in the city 

street 
Congratulate each other as they meet. 
Two lovely ladies, clothed in cloak and 

hood, 
Passed through the garden gate into 

the wood, 
Under the lustrous leaves, and through 

the sheen 
Of dewy sunshine showering down 

between. 



The one, close-hooded, had the attrac- 
tive grace 
Which sorrow sometimes lends a 

woman's face ; 
Her dark eyes moistened with the mists 

that roll 
From the gulf-stream of passion in the 

soul ; 
The other with her hood thrown back, 

her hair 
Making a golden glory in the air, 
Her cheeks suffused with an auroral 

blush, 
Her young heart singing louder than 

the thrush. 
So walked, that morn, through mingled 

light and shade, 
Each by the other's presence lovelier 

made, 
Monna Giovanna and her bosom friend, 
Intent upon their errand and its end. 

They found Ser Federigo at his toil, 
Like banished Adam, delving in the 

soil ; 
And when he looked and these fair 

women spied, 
The garden suddenly was glorified ; 
His long-lost Eden was restored again, 
And the strange river winding through 

the plain 
No longer was the Arno to his eyes, 
But the Euphrates watering Paradise ! 

Monna Giovanna raised her stately 
head, 

And with fair words of salutation said : 

" Ser Federigo, we come here as friends, 

Hoping in this to make some poor 
amends 

For past unkindness. I who ne'er be- 
fore 

Would even cross the threshold of 
your door, 

I who in happier days such pride main- 
tained, 

Refused your banquets, and your gifts 
disdained, 

This morning come, a self-invited guest, 

To put your generous nature to the 
test, 

And breakfast with you under your own 
vine." 

To which he answered : " Poor desert 
of mine, 



296 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE I XX. 



Not your unkindness call it, for if 

aught 
Is good iu me of feeling or of thought, 
From you it comes, and this last grace 

outweighs 
All sorrows, ail regrets of other days." 

And after further compliment and talk, 
Amcng the dahlias in the garden walk 
He left his guests ; and to his cottage 

turned, 
And as, he entered for a moment 

yearned 
For the lost splendors of the days of 

old, 
The ruby glass, the silver and the gold, 
And felt how piercing is the sting of 

pride, 
By want embittered and intensified. 
He looked about him for some means 

or way 
To keep this unexpected holiday ; 
Searched every cupboard, and then 

searched again, 
Summoned the maid, who came, but 

came in vain ; 
" The Signer did not hunt to-day," 

she said, 
"There's nothing in the house but 

wine and bread." 

Then suddenly the drowsy falcon shook 
His little befls, with that sagaci 

look, 
Which said, as plain as language to 

the ear, 
14 If anything is wanting, I am here ! " 
Yes, everything is wanting, gallant 

bird'! 
The mis'er seized thee without further 

rd, 
Like thine own lure, he whirled thee 

round : ah me ! 
The pomp and tlutter of brave falconry, 
The bells, the jesses, the bright scarlet 

hood, 
The flight and the pursuit o'er field 

and wood, 
All these forevermore are ended now ; 
longer victor, but the victim thou ! 

Then on the board a snow-white cloth 

he spread, 
Laid on its wooden dish the loaf of 

bread, 



Brought purple grapes with autumn 

sunshine hot, 
The fragrant peach, the juicy berga- 

mot ; 
Then in the midst a flask of wine he 

placed, 
And with autumnal flowers the banquet 

graced. 
Ser Federigo, would not these suffice 
Without thy falcon stuffed with cloves 

and spice? 

When all was ready, and the courtly 
dame 

With her companion to the cottage 
came, 

Upon Ser Federigo's brain there fell 

The wild enchantment of a magic spell ! 

The room they entered, mean and low 
and small, 

Was changed into a sumptuous ban- 
quet-hill, 

With fanfares by aerial trumpets blown ; 

The rustic chair she sat on was a 
throne ; 

He ate celestial food, and a divine 

Flavor was given to hisQountry wine, 

And the poor falcon, fragrant with his 
spice, 

A peacock was, or bird of paradise ! 

When the repast was endgd, they arose 
And pa tin into the garden -c 

Then said the lady, " Far too well I 

know. 
Remembering still the days of long 
Though you betray it not, with what 

surprise 
Von see me here in this familiar wise. 
You have no children, and you can 

guess 
What anguish, what unspeakable* dis- 

trt. 
A mother feels, whose child is lying ill, 
Nor how her heart anticipate .ill. 

And yet for this, you see me lay aside 
All womanly reserve and check of pi 
And ask the thing most precious in 

your si^ht, 
Your falcon, your sole comfort and de- 
light, 
\\ hich it you find it in your heart to 

e, 
My poor, unhappy boy perchance may 

live." 



INTERL UDE. 



297 



Ser Federigo listens, and replies, 
With tears of love and pity in his eyes : 
" Alas, dear lady ! there can be no task 
So sweet to me, as giving when you ask. 
One little hour ago, if I had known 
This wish of yours, it would have been 

my own. 
But thinking in what manner I could 

best 
Do honor to the presence of my guest, 
I deemed that nothing worthier could 

be 
Than what most dear and precious was 

to me, 
And so my gallant falcon breathed his 

last 
To furnish forth this morning our re- 
.past." 

In mute contrition, mingled with dis- 
may, 

The gentle lady turned her eyes away, 

Grieving that he such sacrifice should 
make, 

And kill his falcon for a woman's sake, 

Yet feeling in her heart a woman's 
pride, 

That nothing she could ask for was 
denied ; 

Then took her leave, and passed out at 
the gate 

With footstep slow and soul disconso- 
late. 

Three days went by, and lo ! a passing- 
bell 
Tolled from the little chapel in the dell ; 
Ten strokes Ser Federigo heard, and 

said, 
Breathing a prayer, "Alas! her child 

is dead ! " 
Three months went by ; and lo ! a 

merrier chime 
Rang from the chapel bells at Christ- 
mas-time ; 
The cottage was deserted, and no more 
Ser Federigo sat beside its door, 
But now, with servitors to do his will, 
In the grand villa, half-way up the hill, 
Sat at the Christmas feast, and at his 

side 
Monna Giovanna, his beloved bride, 
Never so beautiful, so kind, so fair, 
Enthroned once more in the old rustic 
chair, 



High-perched upon the back of which 

there stood 
The image of a falcon carved in wood, 
And underneath the inscription, with a 

date, 
" All things come round to him who 

will but wait." 



INTERLUDE. 

Soon as the story reached its end, 
One, over eager to commend, 
Crowned it with injudicious praise ; 
And then the voice of blame found 

vent, 
And fanned the embers of dissent 
Into a somewhat lively blaze. 

The Theologian shook his head ; 
" These old Italian tales," he said, 
" From the much-praised Decameron 

down 
Through all the rabble of the rest, 
Are either trifling, dull, or lewd ; 
The gossip of a neighborhood 
In some remote provincial town, 
A scandalous chronicle at best ! 
They seem to me a stagnant fen, 
Grown rank with rushes and with reeds, 
Where a white lily, now and then, 
Blooms in the midst of noxious weeds 
And deadly nightshade on its banks." 

To this the Student straight replied, 
" For the white lily, many thanks ! 
One should not say, with too much 

pride, 
Fountain, I will not drink of thee ! 
Nor were it grateful to forget, 
That from these reservoirs and tanks 
Even imperial Shakespeare drew 
His Moor of Venice, and the Jew, 
And Romeo and Juliet, 
And many a famous comedy." 

Then a long pause ; till some one said, 
" An Angel is flying overhead ! " 
At these words spake the Spanish Jew, 
And murmured with an inward breath : 
"God grant, if what you say be true, 
It may not be the Angel of Death ! " 

And then another pause ; and then, 
Stroking his beard, he said again : 



29 8 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



11 This brings back to my memory 

A story in the Talmud told, 

That book of gems, that book of gold, 

Of wonders many and manifold, 

A tale that often comes to me, 

And fills my heart, and haunts my 

brain, 
And never wearies nor grows old." 



THE SPANISH JEW'S TALE. 

THE LEGEND OF RABBI BEN LEVI. 

Rabbi Ben Levi, on the Sabbath, read 
A volume of the Law, in which it said, 
" No man shall look upon my face and 

live." 
And as he read, he prayed that God 

would give 
His faithful servant grace with mortal 

eye 
To look upon His face and yet not die. 

Then fell a sudden shadow on the page, 
And, lifting up his eyes, grown dim 

with age, 
He saw the Angel of Death before him 

stand, 
Holding a naked sword in his ri;_;ht 

hand. 
Rabbi Ben Levi was a righteous man, 
Yet through his veins a chill of tenor 

ran. 
With trembling voice he said, " What 

wilt thou here? n 
The Angel answered, " Lo ! the time 

draws near 
When thou must die ; yet first, by God's 

decree, 
Whate'er thou askest shall be granted 

thee." 
Replied the Rabbi, " Let these living 

eyes 
First look upon my place in Paradise." 

Then said the Angel, " Come with me 

and look." 
Rabbi Ben Levi closed the sacred book, 
And rising, and uplifting his gray head, 
" Give me thy sword," he to the Angel 

said, 
11 Lest thou shouldst fall upon me by 

the way." 
The Angel smiled and hastened to obey, 



Then led him forth to the Celestial 
Town, 

And set him on the wall, whence, gaz- 
ing down, 

Rabbi Ben Levi, with his living eyes, 

Might look upon his place in Paradise. 

Then straight into the city of the 

Lord 
The Rabbi leaped with the Death- 
Angel's sword, 
And through the streets there swept a 

sudden breath 
Of something there unknown, which 

men call death. 
Meanwhile the Angel stayed without, 

and cried, 
" Come back ! " To which the Rabbi's 

voice replied, 
" No ! in the name of God, whom I 

adore, 
I swear that hence I will depart no 

more ! " 

Then all the Angels cried, "O Holy 

One, 
See what the son of Levi here hath 

done ! 
The kingdom of Heaven he takes by 

violence, 
And in Thy name refuses to go hence ! " 
The Lord replied, " My Angels, be not 

wroth ; 
Did e'er the son of Levi break his 

oath ? 
Let him remain ; for he with mortal 

eye 
Shall look upon my face and yet not 

die." 

Beyond the outer wall the Angel of 

I >eath 
Heard the great voice, and said, with 

panting breath, 
"Give back the sword, and let me go 

my way." 
Whereat the Rabbi paused, and an- 
swered, " Nay ! 
Anguish enough already has it caused 
Among the sous of men." And while 

he pan 
He heard the awful mandate of the 

I ,ord 
Resounding through the air, "Give 

back the sword ! " 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 



299 



The Rabbi bowed his head in silent 

prayer ; 
Then said he to the dreadful Angel, 

" Swear, 
No human eye shall look on it again ; 
But when thou takest away the souls 

of men, 
Thyself unseen, and with an unseen 

sword, 
Thou wilt perform the bidding of the 

Lord." 
The Angel took the sword again, and 

swore, 
And walks on earth unseen fore verm ore. 



INTERLUDE. 

He ended : and a kind of spell 
Upon the silent listeners fell. 
His solemn manner and his words 
Had touched the deep, mysterious 

chords, v 

That vibrate in each human breast 
Alike, but not alike confessed. 
The spiritual world seemed near ; 
And close above them, full of fear, 
Its awful adumbration passed, 
A luminous shadow, vague and vast. 
They almost feared to look, lest there, 
Embodied from the impalpable air, 
They might behold the Angel stand, 
Holding the sword in his right hand. 

At last, but in a voice subdued, 

Not to disturb their dreamy mood, 

Said the Sicilian : " While you spoke, 

Telling your legend marvellous, 

Suddenly in my memory woke 

The thought of one, now gone from us, — 

An old Abate, meek and mild, 

My friend and teacher, when a child, 

Who sometimes in those days of old 

The legend of an Angel told, 

Which ran, as I remember, thus." 



THE SICILIAN'S TALE. 

KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope 

Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Apparelled in magnificent attire, 
With retipue of many a knight and 

squire, 



On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly 

sat 
And heard the priests chant the Mag- 
nificat. 
And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 
Repeated, like a burden or refrain, 
He caught the words, " Deposuit po- 
tent es 
De sede, et exaltavit humiles " ; 
And slowly lifting up his kingly head, 
He to a learned clerk beside him said, 
" What mean these words?" The clerk 

made answer meet, 
"He has put down the mighty from 

their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree.'* 
Thereat King Robert muttered scorn- 

" 'T is well that such seditious words 

are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; 
For unto priests and people be it known, 
There is no power can push me from 

my throne ! " 
And leaning back, he yawned and fell 

asleep, 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and 

deep. 

When he awoke it was already night ; 
The church was empty, and there was 

no light, 
Save where the lamps, that glimmered 

few and faint, 
Lighted a little space before some saint. 
He started from his seat and gazed 

around, 
But saw no living thing and heard no 

sound. 
He groped towards the door, but it was 

locked ; 
He cried aloud, and listened, and then 

knocked, 
And uttered awful threatenings and 

complaints, 
And imprecations upon men and saints. 
The sounds re-echoed from the roof 

and walls 
As if dead priests were laughing in 

their stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from with- 
out 

The tumult of the knocking and the 
shout, 



3oo 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



And thinking thieves were in the house 

of prayer, 
Came with his lantern, asking, "Who 

is there ?" 
Half choked with rage, King Robert 

fiercely said, 
11 Open : 't is I, the King ! Art thou 

afraid?" 
The frightened sexton, muttering, with 

a curse, 
"This is some drunken vagabond, or 

worse ! " 
Turned the great key and flung the 

portal wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single 

stride, 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or 

cloak, 
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, 

nor spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the 

night, 
And vanished like a spectre from his 

sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Ur- 
bane 

And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Despoiled of his magnificent attire, 

Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent 
with mire, 

With sense of wrong and outrage des- 
perate, 

Strode on and thundered at the palace 
gate ; 

Rushed through the court-yard, thrust- 
ing in his rage 

To right and left each seneschal and 
page, 

And hurried up the broad and sounding 
stair, 

His white face ghastly in the torches' 
glare. 

From hall to hall he passed with 
breathless speed ; 

Voices and cries he heard, but did not 
heed, 

Until at last he reached the banquet- 
room, 

Blazing with light, and breathing with 
perfume. 

There on the dais sat another king, 
Wearing his robes, his crown, his sig- 
net-ring, 



King Robert's self in features, form, 

and height, 
But all transfigured with angelic light ! 
It was an Angel ; and his presence there 
With a divine effulgence filled the air, 
An exaltation, piercing the disguise, 
Though none the hidden Angel recog- 
nize. 

A moment speechless, motionless, 

amazed, 
The throneless monarch on the Angel 

gazed, 
Who met his look of anger and surprise 
With the divine compassion of his 

eyes ; 
Then said, " Who art thou ? and why 

com'st thou here?" 
To which King Robert answered, with 

a sneer, 
" I am the King, and come to claim 

my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my 

throne ! " 
And suddenly, attheseaudaciouswords, 
Up sprang the angry guests, and drew 

their swords ; 
The Angel answered, with unruffled 

brow, 
" Nay, not the King, but the King's 

Jester, thou 
Henceforth shalt wear the bells and 

scalloped cape, 
And for thy counsellor shalt lead an 

ape ; 
Thou shalt obey my servants when they 

call, 
And wait upon my henchmen in the 

hall ! " 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries 
and prayers, 

They thrust him from the hall and down 
the stairs ; 

A group of tittering pages ran before, 

And as they opened wide the folding- 
door, 

His heart failed, for he heard, with 
strange alarms, 

The boisterous laughter of the men-at- 
arms, 

And all the vaulted chamber roar and 
ring 

With the mock plaudits of " Long live 
the King 1 " 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 



30 1 



Next morning, waking with the day's 

first beam, 
He said within himself, " It was a 

dream ! " 
But the straw rustled as he turned his 

head, 
There were the cap and bells beside his 

bed, 
Around him rose the bare, discolored 

walls, 
Close by, the steeds were champing in 

their stalls, 
And in the corner, a revolting shape, 
Shivering and chattering sat the 

wretched ape. 
It was no dream ; the world he loved 

so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his 

touch ! 

Days came and went ; and now re- 
turned again 

To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; 

Under the Angel's governance benign 

The happy island danced with corn and 
wine, 

And deep within the mountain's burn- 
ing breast 

Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his 

fate, 
Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 
Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters 

wear, 
With look bewildered and a vacant 

stare, 
Close shaven above the ears, as monks 

are shorn, 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed 

to scorn, 
His only friend the ape, his only food 
What others left, — he still was unsub- 
dued. 
And when the Angel met him on his 

way, 
And half in earnest, half in jest, would 

# sa y> 

Sternly, though tenderly, that he might 

feel 
The velvet scabbard held a sword of 

steel, 
"Art thou the King? " the passion of 

his woe 
Burst from him in resistless overflow, 



And, lifting high his forehead, he would 

fling 
The haughty answer back, " I am, I 

am the King ! " 

Almost three years were ended ; when 
there came 

Ambassadors of great repute and name 

From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Unto King Robert, saying that Pope 
Urbane 

By letter summoned them forthwith to 
come 

On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 

The Angel with great joy received his 
guests, 

And gave them presents of embroid- 
ered vests, 

And velvet mantles with rich ermine 
lined, 

And rings and jewels of the rarest 
kind. 

Then he departed with them o'er the 
sea 

Into the lovely land of Italy, 

Whose loveliness was more resplendent 
made 

By the mere passing of that caval- 
cade, 

With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, 
and the stir 

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock 

state, 
Upon a piebald steed, with shambling 

His cloak, of fox-tails flapping in the 
wind, 

The solemn ape demurely perched 
behind, 

King Robert rode, making huge mer- 
riment 

In all the country towns through which 
they went. 

The Pope received them with great 

pomp and blare 
Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's 

square, 
Giving his benediction and embrace, 
Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
While with congratulations and with 

prayers 
He entertained the Angel unawares, 



302 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



Robert, the Jester, bursting through the 

crowd, 
Into their presence rushed, and cried 

aloud, 
" I am the King ! Look, and behold in 

me 
Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! 
This man, who wears my semblance to 

your eyes, 
Is an imposter in a king's disguise. 
Do you not know me f does no voice 

within 
Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? " 
The Pope in silence, but with troubled 

mien, 
Gazed at the Angel's countenance se- 
rene ; 
The Emperor, laughing, said, " It is 

strange sport 
To keep a madman for thy Fool at 

court ! " 
And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the Holy Week went by, 
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the 

sky ; 
The presence ofthe Angel, with its light, 
Before the sun rose, made the city 

bright, 
And with new fervor filled the hearts of 

men, 
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen 

liii. 
Even the Jester, on his bed of straw. 
With haggard eyes the unwonted splen- 
dor saw, 
He felt within a power unfelt before, 
And, kneeling humbly on his chamber 

floor. 
He heard the rushing garments of the 

Lord 
Sweep through the silent air, ascending 

heavenward. 

And now the visit ending, and once 

more 
Valmond returning to the Danube's 

shore, 
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and 

again 
The land was made resplendent with his 

train 
Flashing along the towns of Italy 
Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 



And when once more within Palermo's 

wall. 
And, seated on the throne in his threat 

hall, 
He heard the Angelus from convent 

towers, 
As if the better world conversed with 

ours. 
He beckoned to King Robert to draw 

nigher, 
And with a gesture bade the rest retire ; 
And when they were alone, the Angel 

said, 
"Art thou the King?" Then, bowing 

down his head, 
King Robert crossed both hands upon 

his breast, 
And meekly answered him : " Thou 

knowest best ! 
My sins as scarlet are; let me go 

hence, 
And in some cloister's school of peni- 
tence, 
Across those stones, that pave the way 

to heaven. 
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be 

shriven ! " 

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant 

face 
A holy light illumined all the place, 
And through the open window, loud and 

clear. 
They heard the monks chant in the 

chapel near. 
Above the stir and tumult of the street : 
" He has put down the mighty from 

their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree ! " 
And thnfligh the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single 

string : 
" I am an Angel, and thou art the 

King ! " 

King Robert, who was standing near the 

throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone 1 
But all apparelled as in days of old. 
With ermined mantle and with cloth of 

gold ; 
And when his courtiers came, they 

found him there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absoibed in 

silent prayer. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



3°3 



INTERLUDE. 

And then the blue-eyed Norseman told 
A Saga of the days of old. 
" There is," said he, " a wondrous book 
Of Legends in the old Norse tongue, 
Of the dead kings of Norroway, — 
Legends that once were told or sung 
In many a smoky fireside nook 
Of Iceland, in the ancient day, 
By wandering Saga-man or Scald ; 
Heimskringla is the volume called ; 
And he who looks may find therein 
The story that I now begin." 

And in each pause the story made 

Upon his violin he played, 

As an appropriate interlude, 

Fragments of old Norwegian tunes 

That bound in one the separate runes, 

And held the mind in perfect mood, 

Entwining and encircling all 

The strange and antiquated rhymes 

With melodies of olden times ; 

As over some half-ruined wall 

Disjointed and about to fall, 

Fresh woodbines climb and interlace, 

And keep the loosened stones in place. 



THE MUSICIAN'S TALE. 
THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



THE CHALLENGE OF THOR. 

I am the God Thor, 
I am the War God, 
I am the Thunderer ! 
Here in my Northland, ^ 
My fastness and fortress, 
Reign I forever ! 

Here amid icebergs 
Rule I the nations ; 
This is my hammer, 
Miblner the mighty ; 
Giants and sorcerers 
Cannot withstand it ! 

These are the gauntlets 
Wherewith I wield it, 
And hurl it afar off; 
This is my girdle ; 
Whenever I brace it, 
Strength is redoubled 1 



The light thou beholdest 
Stream through the heavens, 
In flashes of crimson, 
Is but my red beard 
Blown by the night-wind, 
Affrighting the nations ! 

Jove is my brother ; 
Mine eyes are the lightning; 
The wheels of my chariot 
Roll in the thunder, 
The blows of my hammer 
Ring in the earthquake ! 

Force rules the world still, 
Has ruled it, shall rule it ; - 
Meekness is weakness, 
Strength is triumphant, 
Over the whole earth 
Still is it Thor's-Day ! 

Thou art a God too, 
O Galilean ! 
And thus single-handed 
Unto the combat, 
Gauntlet or Gospel, 
Here I defy thee ! 

11. 

KING OLAF'S RETURN. 

And King Olaf heard the cry, 
Saw the red light in the sky, 

Laid his hand upon his sword, 
As he leaned upon the railing, 
And his ships went sailing, sailing 

Northward into Drontheim fiord. 

There he stood as one who dreamed ; 
And the red light glanced and gleamed 

On the armor that he wore ; 
And he shouted, as the rifted 
Streamers o'er him shook and shifted, 

" I accept thy challenge, Thor ! " 

To avenge his father slain, 
And reconquer realm and reign, 
Came the youthful Olaf home, 
Through the midnight sailing, sailing, 
Listening to the wild wind's wailins:. 



And the dashing of the foam. 



»> 



To his thoughts the sacred name 
Of his mother Astrid came, 

And the tale she oft had told 
Of her flight by secret passes 
Through the mountains and morasses, 
• To the home of Hakon old. 



3°4 



TALES OF A IV A YSIDE I XX. 



Then strange memories crowded back 
Of Queen Gunhild's wrath and wrack, 

And a hurried flight by sea ; 
Of grim Vikings, and the rapture 
Of the sea-fight, and the capture, 

And the life of slavery. 

How a stranger watched his face 
In the Esthonian market-place, 

Scanned his features one by one, 
Saying, " We should know each other ; 
I am Sigurd, Astrid's brother, 

Thou art Olaf, Astrid's son ! 

Then as Queen Allogia's page, 
Old in honors, young in age, 

Chief of all her men-at-arms ; 
Till vague whispers, and mysterious, 
Reached King Yaldemar, the imperious, 

Filling him with strange alarms. 

Then his cruisings o'er the seas, 
Westward to the Hebrides, 

And to Scilly's rocky shore ; 
And the hermit's cavern dismal, 
Christ's great name and rites baptismal 

In the ocean's rush and roar. 

All these thoughts of love and strife 
Glimmered through his lurid life, 

As the stars' intenser light 
Through the red flames o'er him trail- 
ing, 
As his ships went sailing, sailing, 

Northward in tin- summer night 

Trained for either camp or court, 
Skilful in each manly sport, 

Young and beautiful and tall ; 
Art of warfare, craft of chases, 
Swimming, Bleating, snow-shoe races, 

Excellent alike in all. 

When at sea, with all his rowers, 
He along the bending oars 

( hitside of his ship could run. 
He the Smalsor Horn ascended, 
And his shining shield suspend, 

On its summit, like a sun. 

On the ship-rails he could stand. 
Wield his sword with either hand, 

And at once two javelins throw ; 
At all feasts where ale was strongest 
Sat the merry monarch longest, 

First to come and last to go. 

Norway never yet had seen 
One so beautiful of mien, 



One so royal in attire 
When in arms completely furnished, 
Harness gold-inlaid and burnished, 

Mantle like a flame of fire. 

Thus came Olaf to his own, 
When upon the night-wind blown 

Passed that cry along the shore ; 
And he answered, while the rifted 
Streamers o'er him shook and shifted, 

" I accept thy challenge, Tlior ! " 



m. 



THORA OF RIMOL. 

" Thora of Rimol ! hide me ! hide me ! 
Danger and shame and death betide 

me ! 
For Olaf the King is hunting me down 
Through field and forest, through thorp 
and town ! " 
Thus cried Jarl Hakon 
To Thora, the fairest of women. 

" Hakon Jarl ! for the love I bear thee 
Neither shall shame nor death come 

near thee ! 
But the hiding-place wherein thou must 

lie 
Is the cave underneath the swine in 
the sty." 
Thus to Jarl Hakon 
Saul Thora, the fairest of women. 

So Hakon Jarl and his base thrall 

Karker 
Crouched in the cave, than a dungeon 

darker. 
As Olaf came riding, with men in mail, 
Through the forest roads into Orkadale, 
1 NManding Jarl Hakon 
Of Thora, the fairest of women. 

" Rich and honored shall be whoever 
The head of Hakon Jarl shall dis- 
sever ! " 
Hakon heard him, and Karker theslave, 
Through the breathing-holes of the 
darksome cave. 
Alone in her chamber 
Wept Thora, the fairest of women. 

Said Karker, the crafty, " I will not 

slay thee ! 
For all the king's gold I will never 

betray thee 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



305 



" Then why dost thou turn so pale, 

churl, 
And then again black as the earth?" 
said the Earl. 
More pale and more faithful 
Was Thora, the fairest of women. 

From a dream in the night the thrall 

started, saying, 
" Round my neck a gold ring King Olaf 

was laying ! " 
And Hakon answered, " Beware of the 

king ! 
He will lay round thy neck a blood-red 

ring." 
At the ring on her finger 
Gazed Thora, the fairest of women. 

At daybreak slept Hakon, with sorrows 

encumbered, 
But screamed and drew up his feet as 

he slumbered ; 
The thrall in the darkness plunged with 

his knife, 
And the Earl awakened no more in this 

life. 
But wakeful and weeping 
Sat Thora, the fairest of women. 

At Nidarholm the priests are all sing- 
ing, 
Two ghastly heads on the gibbet are 

swinging ; 
One is Jarl Hakon's and one is his 

thrall's, 
And the people are shouting from win- 
dows and walls ; 
While alone in her chamber 
SwoonsThora, the fairestof women. 



IV. 



QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY. 

Queen Sigrid the Haughty sat proud 

and aloft 
In'her chamber, that looked over meadr 
ow and croft. 
Heart's dearest, . 
Why dost thou sorrow so ? 

The floor with tassels of fir was be- 
sprent, 
Filling the room with their fragrant 
scent. 

20 



She heard the birds sing, she saw the 

sun shine. 
The air of summer was sweeter than 

wine. 

Like a sword without scabbard the 

bright river lay 
Between her own kingdom and Norro- 

way. 

But Olaf the King had sued for her 

hand, 
The sword would be sheathed, the 

river be spanned. 

Her maidens were seated around her 

knee, 
Working bright figures in tapestry. 

And one was singing the ancient rune 
Of Brynhilda's love and the wrath of 
Gudrun. 

And through it, and round it, and over 

it all 
Sounded incessant the waterfall. 

The Queen in her hand held a ring of 

gold, 
From the door of Lade's Temple old. 

King Olaf had sent her this wedding 

gift, 
But her thoughts as arrows were keen 

and swift. 

She had given the ring to her gold- 
smiths twain, 

Who smiled, as they handed it back 
again. 

And Sigrid the Queen, in her haughty 
way, 

Said, " Why do you smile, my gold- 
smiths, say? " 

And they answered : " O Queen ! if 

the truth must be told, 
The ring is of copper, and not of gold ! " 

The lightning flashed o'er her forehead 

and cheek, 
She only murmured, she did not speak : 

" If in his gifts he can faithless be, 
There will be no gold in his love to 
me." 

A footstep was heard on the outer stair, 
And in strode King Olaf with royal air. 



306 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



He kissed the Queen's hand, and he 

whispered of love, 
And swore to be true as the stars are 

above. 

But she smiled with contempt as she 
answered : " O King, 

Will you swear it, as Odin once swore, 
on the ring ? " 

And the King : " O speak not of Odin 

to me, 
The wife of King Olaf a Christian must 

be." 

Looking straight at the King, with her 

level brows, 
She said, " 1 keep true to my faith and 

my vows." 

Then the face of King Olaf was dark- 
ened with gloom, 

He rose in his anger and strode through 
the room. 

" Why, then, should I care to have 

thee ? " he said, — 
" A faded old woman, a heathenish 

jade ! " 

His zeal was stronger than fear or 

love, 
And he struck the Queen in the face 

with his glove. 

Then forth from the chamber in anger 

he fled, 
And the wooden stairway shook with 

his tread. 

Queen Sigrid the Haughty said under 

her breath, 
" This insult, King Olaf, shall be thy 

uh :" 

Heart's dearest, 

Why dost thou sorrow so? 



THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS. 

Now from all King Olaf's farms 
His men-at-arms 

Gathered on the Eve of Easter ; 
To his house at Angvalds-ness 

I ^ they press, 
Drinking with the royal feaster. 

Loudly through the wide-flung door 
Came the roar 



Of the sea upon the Skerry ; 
And its thunder loud and near 

Reached the ear, 
Mingling with their voices merry. 

" Hark ! " said Olaf to his Scald, 

Halfred the Bald, 
'" Listen to that song, and learn it I 
Half my kingdom would 1 give, 

I live, 
If by such songs you would earn it ! 

" For of all the runes and rhymes 

( H all times, 
Best I like the ocean's dirges, 
When the old harper heaves and rocks, 

His hoary locks 
Flowing and Hashing in the surges ! " 

Halfred answered : " I am called 

The Unappalled ! 
Nothing hinders me or daunts me. 
Hearken to me, then, O King, 

While I 511 
The great Ocean Song that haunts me. " 

" I will hear your song sublime 

Some other time," 
Says the drowsy monarch, yawning, 
And retires; each laughing gin 

Applauds the jest ; 
Then they sleep till day is dawning. 

Pacing up and down the yard, 

King ( )l;it"'s ^unrd 
Saw the sea-mist slowly creeping 
O'er the sands, and up the hill, 

( fathering still 
Round the house where they were sleep- 
ing. 

It was not the fog he saw, 

Nor misty Haw, 
That above the landscape brooded ; 
It w.i I iud ICal Ida's crew 

warlocks blue 
With their caps of darkness hooded ! 

Round and round the house they go, 

\\ saving slow 
Matric circles to encumber 
And imprison in their ring 

Olaf the Kin 
As he helpless lies in slumber. 

Then athwart the vapors dun 
The Latter s»un 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



307 



Streamed with one broad track of splen- 
dor ! 
In their real forms appeared 

The warlocks weird, 
Awful as the Witch of Endor. 

Blinded by the light that glared, 
They groped and stared 

Round about with steps unsteady ; 

From his window Olaf gazed, 
And, amazed, ' 

" Who are these strange people? " said 
he. 

" Eyvind Kallda and his men ! " 

Answered then 
From the yard a sturdy farmer ; 
While the men-at-arms apace 

Filled the place, 
Busily buckling on their armor. 

From the gates they sallied forth, 

South and north, 
Scoured the island coast around them, 
Seizing all the warlock band, 

Foot and hand 
On the Skerry's rocks they bound them. 

And at eve the king again 

Called his train, 
And, with all the candles burning, 
Silent sat and heard once more 

The sullen roar 
Of the ocean tides returning. 

Shrieks and cries of wild despair 

Filled the air, 
Growing fainter as they listened ; 
Then the bursting surge alone 

Sounded on ; — 
Thus the sorcerers were christened ! 

" Sing, O Scald, your song sublime, 

Your ocean-rhyme," 
Cried King Olaf: " it will cheer me ! " 
Said the Scald, with pallid cheeks, 

" The Skerry of Shrieks 
Sings too loud for you to hear me ! " 

VI. 
THE WR'AITH OF ODIN. 

The guests were loud, the ale was strong 
King Olaf feasted late and long; 
The hoary Scalds together sang ; 
O'erhead the smoky rafters rang. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 



The doorswungwide, with creak and din; 
A blast of cold night-air came in, 
And on the threshold shivering stood 
A one-eyed guest, with cloak and hood. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fcgel- 
sang. 

The King exclaimed, " O graybeard 
pale ! 

Come warm thee with this cup of ale." 

The foaming draught the old man 
quaffed, 

The noisy guests looked on and laughed. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Vogel- 
sang. 

Then spake the King : " Be not afraid ; 
Sit here by me." The guest obeyed, 
And, seated at the table, told 
Tales of the sea, and Sagas old. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

And ever, when the tale was o'er, 
The King demanded yet one more ; 
Till Sigurd the Bishop smiling said, 
" 'T is late, O King, and time forbed." 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

The King retired ; the stranger guest 
Followed and entered with the rest ; 
The lights were out, the pages gone, 
But still the garrulous guest spake on. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

As one who from a volume reads, 
He spake of heroes and their deeds, 
Of lands and cities he had seen, 
And stormy gulfs that tossed between. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

Then from his lips in music rolled 
The Havamal of Odin old, 
With sounds mysterious as the roar 
Of billows on a distant shore. 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

" Do we not learn from runes and 

rhymes 
Made by the gods in elder times, 
And do not still the great Scalds teach 
That silence better is than speech? " 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 



3 o8 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



Smiling at this, the King replied, 
" Thy lore is by thy tongue belied ; 
For never was I so enthralled 
Either by Saga-man or Scald." 

Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

The Bishop said, " Late hours we keep ! 
Night wanes, O King ! 't is time for 

sleep !" 
Then slept the King, and when he woke 
The guest was gone, the morning broke. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 

sang. 

They found the doors securely barred, 
They found the watch-dog in the yard, 
There was no footprint in the grass. 
And none, had seen the stranger pass. 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

King Olaf crossed himself and said : 
'" I know that Odin the Great is dead ; 
Sure is the triumph of our Faith, 
The one-eyed stranger was his wraith." 
Dead rides Sir Morten of Fogel- 
sang. 

VII. 
IRON-BEARD. 

Olaf the King, one summer morn, 
Blew a blast on his bugle-horn, 
Sending his signal through the land of 
1 hrontneim. 

And to the Hus-TTng held at Mere 
Gathered the fanners far and near, 

With their war weapons ready to con- 
front him. 

Ploughing under the morning star, 
Old Iron Beard in Vriar 

Heard the summons, chuckling with a 
low laugh. 

He wiped the sweat-drops from his 

brow, 
Unharnessed his horses from the 

plough, 
And clattering came on horseback to 

King Olaf. 

He was the churliest of the churls ; 
Little he cared for king or earls ; 
Bitter as home-brewed ale were his 
foaming passions. 



Hodden-gray was the garb he wore, 
And by the Hammer of Thor he 

swore ; 
He hated the narrow town, and all its 

fashions. 

But he loved the freedom of his 

farm, 
His ale at night, by the fireside 

warm, 
Gudrun his daughter, with her flaxen 

tresses. 

He loved his horses and his herds, 
The smell of the earth, and the 
song of birds, 
His well-filled barns, his brook with its 
water-cresses. 

Huge and cumbersome was his 

frame ; 
His beard, from which he took his 

name, 
Frosty and fierce, like that of Hymer 

the Giant 

So at the Hus-Ting he appeared, 
The fanner of Yri.ir. 1 ton- Beard, 
On horseback, in an attitude defiant. 

And to King Olaf he cried aloud, 
Out of the middle of the crowd, 
That tossed about him like a stormy 
ocean : 

" Such sacrifices shalt thou bring ; 
To Odin and to Thor, O King, 
As other kings have done in their de- 
votion ! " 

King Olaf answered : " I command 
This land to be a Christian land ; 
Here is my Bishop who the folk bap- 
tizes ! 

" But if you ask me to restore* 
Your sacrifices, stained with gore, 
Then will I offer human sacrifice 

" Not slaves and peasants shall 

they be, 
But men of note and high degree, 
Such men as ( )rm of Lyra and Kar of 

Gryting ! " 

Then to their Temple strode he in, 
And loud behind him heard the 

din 
Of his men at arms and the peasants 

fiercely fighting. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



309 



There in the Temple, carved in 

wood, 
The image of great Odin stood, 
And other gods, with Thor supreme 
among them. 

King Olaf smote them with the 
blade 

Of his huge war-axe, gold inlaid, 
And downward shattered to the pave- 
ment flung tHem. 

At the same moment rose without, 
From the contending crowd, a 

shout, 
A mingled sound of triumph and of 

wailing. 

And there upon the trampled plain 
The farmer Iron-Beard lay slain, 
Midway between the assailed and the 
assailing. 

King Olaf from the doorway spoke : 
" Choose ye between two things, 
my folk, 
To be baptized or given up to slaugh- 
ter ! " 

And seeing their leader stark and 

dead, 
The people with a murmur said, 
" O King, baptize us with thy holy 
water " ; 

So all the Drontheim land became 
A Christian land in name and 

fame, 
In the old gods no more believing and 

trusting. 

And as a blood-atonement, soon 
King Olaf wed the fair Gudrun ; 
And thus in peace ended the Drontheim 
Hus-Ting ! 

VIII. 
GUDRUN. 

On King Olaf 's bridal night 
Shines the moon with tender light, 
And across the chamber streams 
Its tide of dreams. 

At the fatal midnight hour, 
When all evil things have power, 
In the glimmer of the moon 
Stands Gudrun. 



Close against her heaving breast, 
Something in her hand is pressed ; 
Like an icicle, its sheen 
Is cold and keen. 

On the cairn are fixed her eyes 
Where her murdered father lies, 
And a voice remote and drear 
She seems to hear. 

What a bridal night is this ! 
Cold will be the dagger's kiss ; 
Laden with the chill of death 
Is its breath. 

Like the drifting snow she sweeps 
To the couch where Olaf sleeps ; 
Suddenly he wakes and stirs, 
His eyes meet hers. 

" What is that," King Olaf said, 
" Gleams so bright above thy head? 
Wherefore standest thou so white 
In pale moonlight ? " 

" 'T is the bodkin that I wear 
When at night I bind my hair ; 
It woke me falling on the floor ; 
'T is nothing more." 

" Forests have ears, and fields have 

eyes ; 
Often treachery lurking lies 
Underneath the fairest hair ! 
Gudrun beware ! " 

Ere the earliest peep of morn 
Blew King Olaf 's bugle-horn ; 
And forever sundered ride 
Bridegroom and bride ! 



IX. 



THANGBRAND THE PRIEST. 

Short of stature, large of limb, 

Burly face and russet beard, 
All the women stared at him, 
When in Iceland he appeared. 
" Look ! " they said, 
With nodding head, 
" There goes Thangbrand, Olaf 's 
Priest." 

All the prayers he knew by rote, 
He could preach like Chrysostome, 

From the Fathers he could quote, 
He had even been at Rome. 



3io 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



A learned clerk, 
A man of mark, 
Was this Thangbrand, Olaf ' s Priest. 

He was quarrelsome and loud, 

And impatient of control, 
Boisterous in the market crowd, 
Boisterous at the wassail-bowl, 
Everywhere 

Would drink and swear, 
Swaggering Thangbrand, Olaf 's Priest. 

In his house this malcontent 

Could the King no longer bear, 
So to Iceland he was sent 
To convert the heathen there, 
And away 
( )ne summer clay 
Sailed this Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

There in Iceland, o'er their books 
Pored the people day and night, 
But he did not like their looks, 
Nor the songs they used to write. 
'■ All this rhyme 
[l waste of time ! " 
Grumbled Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

To the alehouse, where he sat, 

ime the Scalds and Saga-men ; 
Is it to be wondered at, 

That they quarrelled now and then, 
When o'er his beer 
Began to leer 
Drunken Thangbrand, Olafs Priest ? 

All the folk in Altafiord 

isted of their island grand ; 
Saving in a single word, 
44 Iceland is the finest land 
That the sun 
I I ith shine upon ! " 
Loud laughed Thangbrand, Olafs 
Priest. 

And he answered : " What 's the use 

Of this bragging up and down, 
When three women awl one goose 
Make a market in your town ! " 
Every Scald 
Satires scrawled 
On poor Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

Something worse they did than that; 

And what vexed him most of all 
Wa a figure in shovel hat, 

Drawn in charcoal on the wall ; 



With words that go 
Sprawling below, 
"This is Thangbrand, Olafs Priest." 

Hardly knowing what he did, 

Then he smote them might and main, 
Thorvald Veile and Veterlid 
Lay there in the alehouse slain. 
" To-day we are gold, 
To-morrow mould ! " 
Muttered Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

Much in fear of axe and rope, 

Back to Norway sailed he then, 
"O, King Olaf! little hope 
Is there of these Iceland men 1 " 
Meekly said. 
With bending head, 
Pious Thangbrand, Olafs Priest. 

x. 

RAUD THE STRONG. 

" All the old gods are dead, 
All the wild warlocks fled ; 
But the White Christ lives and reigns, 
And throughout my wide domains 
His Gospel shall be spread ! " 
( )n the Evangelists 
Thus swore King Olaf. 

But still in dreams of the night 
Beheld lie the crimson light. 
And heard the voice that defied 
Him who was crucified, 
And challenged him to the fight. 
I i Sigurd the Bishop 
King Olaf confessed it. 

And Sigurd the Bishop said, 
" The old t;ocls arc not dead, 
For the great Thor still reigns, 
And among the Jarls and Thanes 
The old witchcraft still is spread. " 
Thus to King Olaf 
Said Sigurd the Bishop. 

" Far north in the Salten Fiord, 

By rapine, fire, and sword, 

Lives the Vikin, Raud the Strong; 

All the Godoe Isles belong 

To him and his heathen horde." 

Thus went on speaking 

Sigurd the Bishop. 

"A warlock, a wizard is he, 

And lord of the wind and the sea ; 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



3" 



And whichever way he sails, 

He has ever favoring gales, 

By his craft in sorcery." 

Here the sign of the cross 
Made devoutly King Olaf. 

" With rites that we both abhor, 
He worships Odin and Thbr ; 
So it cannot yet be said, 
That all the old gods are dead, 
And thewarlocks are no more," 

Flushing with anger 

Said Sigurd the Bishop. 

Then King Olaf cried aloud : 
" I will talk with this mighty Raud, 
And along the Salten Fiord 
Preach the Gospel with my sword, 
Or be brought back in my shroud ! " 

So northward from Drontheim 

Sailed King Olaf ! 

XI. 
BISHOP SIGURD AT SALTEN FIORD. 

Loud the angry wind was wailing 
As King Olafs ships came sailing 
Northward out of Drontheim haven 
To the mouth of Salten Fiord. 

Though the flying sea-spray drenches 
Fore and aft the rowers' benches, 
Not a single heart is craven 

Of the champions there on board. 

All without the Fiord was quiet, 
But within it storm and riot, 
Such as on his Viking cruises 

Raud the Strong was wont to ride. 

And the sea through all its tide-ways 
Swept the reeling vessels sideways, 
As the leaves are swept through sluices, 
When the flood-gates open wide. 

" 'Tis the warlock ! 't is the demon 
Raud ! " cried Sigurd to the seamen ; 
" But the Lord is not affrighted 
By the witchcraft of his foes." 

To the ship's bow he ascended, 
By his choristers attended, 
Round him were the tapers lighte 
And the saCred incense rose. 

On the bow stood Bishop Sigurd, 
In his robes, as one transfigured, 
And the Crucifix he planted 

High amid the rain and mist. 



Then with holy water sprinkled 
All the ship ; the mass-bells tinkled ; 
Loud the monks around him chanted, 
Loud he read the Evangelist. 

As into the Fiord they darted, 
On each side the water parted ; 
Down a path like silver molten 

Steadily rowed King Olafs ships ; 

Steadily burned all night the tapers, 
And the White Christ through the 

vapors 
Gleamed across the Fiord of Salten, 
As through John's Apocalypse, — 

Till at last they reached Raud's dwelling 
On the little isle of Gelling ; 
Not a guard was at the doorway, 

Not a glimmer of light was seen. 

But at anchor, carved and gilded, 
Lay the dragon-ship he builded ; 
'T was the grandest ship in Norway, 
With its crest and scales of green. 

Up the stairway, softly creeping, 
To the loft where Raud was sleeping, 
With their fists they burst asunder 
Bolt and bar that held the door. 

Drunken with sleep and ale they found 

him, 
Dragged him from his bed and bound 

him, 
While he stared with stupid wonder, 
At the look and garb they wore. 

Then King Olaf said : " O Sea- King ! 
Little time have we for speaking, 
Choose between the good and evil ; 
Be baptized, or thou shalt die ! " 

But in scorn the heathen scoffer 
Answered : " I disdain thine offer ; 
Neither fear I God nor Devil ; 

Thee and thy Gospel I defy ! " 

Then between his jaws distended, 
When his frantic struggles ended, 
Through King Olafs horn an adder, 
Touched by fire, they forced to 
glide. 

Sharp his tooth was as an arrow, 
As he gnawed through bone and mar- 
row ; 
But without a groan or shudder, 

Raud the Strong blaspheming died. 



312 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



Then baptized they all that region, 
Swarthy Lap and fair Norwegian, 
Far as swims the salmon, leaping, 
Up the streams of Salten Fiord. 

In their temples Thor and Odin 
Lay in dust and ashes trodden, 
As King Olaf, onward sweeping, 

Preached the Gospel withhissword. 

Then he took the carved and gilded 
Dragon-ship that Raud had builded, 
And the tiller single-handed 

Grasping, steered into the main. 

Southward sailed the sea-gulls o'er him, 
Southward sailed the ship that bore him, 
Till at Drontheim haven landed 
Olaf and his crew again. 

XII. 
KING OLAF'S CHRISTMAS. 

At Drontheim, Olaf the King 
Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring, 

As he sat in his banquet-hall, 
Drinking the nut-brown ale, 
With his bearded Berserks hale 

And tall. 

Three days his Yule-tide feasts 
He held with Bishops and Priests, 

And his horn filled up to the brim ; 
But the ale was never too strong, 
Nor the Saga-man's tale too long, 

For him. 

O'er his drinking-horn, the sign 
He made of the cross divine, 

As he drank, and muttered his 
prayers ; 
But the Berserks evermore 
Made the sign of the Hammer of Thor 

Over theirs. 

The gleams of the fire-light dance 
Upon helmet and hauberk and lance, 

And laugh in the eyes of the King; 
And he cries to Halfred the Scald, 
Gray-bearded, wrinkled, and bald, 

" Sing ! 

" Sing me a song divine, 
With a sword in every line, 

And this shall be thy reward." 
And he loosened the belt at his waist, 
And in front of the singer placed 

His sword. 



" Quern-biter of Hakon the Good, 
Wherewith at a stroke he hewed 

The millstonethrough and through, 
And Foot-breadth of Thoralf the Strong, 
Were neither so broad nor so long, 

Nor so true." 

Then tire Scald took his harp and 

sang, 
And loud through the music rang 

The sound of that shining word; 
And the harp-strings a clangor made, 
As if they were struck with the blade 

Of a sword. 

And the Berserks round about 
Broke forth into a shout 

That made the rafters ring : 
They smote with their fists on the 

board, 
And shouted, " Long live the Sword, 

And the King!" 

But the King said, " O my son, 
I miss the bright word in one 

Of thy measures and thy rhymes." 
And Halfred the Scald replied, 
" In another 't was multiplied 

Three times." 

Then King Olaf raised the hilt 
Of iron, cross-shaped and gilt, 

And said, " Do not refuse ; 
Count well the gain and the loss, 
Thor's hammer or Christ's cross: 

Choose ! " 

And Halfred the Scald said, " This 
In the name of the Lord I kiss, 

Who on it was crucified ! " 
And a shout went round the board, 
" In the name of Christ the Lord, 

Who died ! " 

Then over the waste of snows 
The noonday sun uprose, 

Through the ch iving mists revealed, 
Like the lifting of the Host, 
By incense-clouds almost 

Concealed. 

On the shining wall a vast 
And shadowy cross Was cast 

From the hilt of the lifted sword, 
And in foaming cups of ale 
The Berserks drank " Wa6-hael I 

To the Lord 1 " 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



3i3 



XIII. 

THE BUILDING OF THE LONG SER- 
PENT. 

Thorberg Skafting, master-builder, 

In his ship-yard by the sea, 
Whistling, said, " It would bewilder 
Any man but Thorberg Skafting, 
Any man but me ! " 

Near him lay the Dragon stranded, 

Built of old by Raud the Strong, 
And King Olaf had commanded 
^He should build another Dragon, 
Twice as large and long. 

Therefore whistled Thorberg Skafting, 

As he sat with half-closed eyes, 
And his head turned sideways, drafting 
That new vessel for King Olaf 
Twice the Dragon's size. 

Round him busily hewed and hammered 
Mallet huge and heavy axe ; 

Workmen laughed and sang and clam- 
ored ; 

Whirred the wheels, that into rigging 
Spun the shining flax ! 

All this tumult heard the master, — 

It was music to his ear ; 
Fancy whispered all the faster, 
" Men shall hear of Thorberg Skafting 

For a hundred year ! " 

Workmen sweating at the forges 
Fashioned iron bolt and bar, 
Like a warlock's midnight orgies 
Smoked and bubbled the black caldron 
With the boiling tar. 

Did the warlocks mingle in it, 

Thorberg Skafting, any curse ? 
Could you not be gone a minute 
But some mischief must be doing, 
Turning bad to worse? 

'T was an ill wind that came wafting, 

From his homestead words of woe ; 
To his farm went Thorberg Skafting, 
Oft repeating to his workmen, 
Build ye thus and so. 

After long delays returning 

Came the master back by night ; 
To his ship-yard longing, yearning, 
Hurried he, and did not leave it 
Till the morning's light. 



" Come and see my ship, my darling ! " 
On the morrow said the King ; 

" Finished now from keel to carling; 

Never yet was seen in Norway 
Such a wondrous thing ! " 

In the ship-yard, idly talking, 

At the ship the workmen stared : 
Some one, all their labor balking, 
Down her sides had cut deep gashes, 
Not a plank was spared ! 

" Death be to the evil-doer ! " 

With an oath King Olaf spoke ; 
" But rewards to his pursuer ! " 
And with wrath his face grew redder 
Than his scarlet cloak. 

Straight the master-builder, smiling, 
Answered thus the angry King : 
" Cease blaspheming and reviling, 
Olaf, it was Thorberg Skafting 
Who has done this thing ! " 

Then he chipped and smoothed the 
planking, 
Till trie King, delighted, swore, 
With much lauding and much thank- 
ing, 
" Handsomer is now my Dragon 
Than she was before ! " 

Seventy ells and four extended 

On the grass the vessel's keel ; 
High above it, gilt and splendid, 
Rose the figure-head ferocious 
With its crest of steel. 

Then they launched her from the tres- 
sels, 

In the ship-yard by the sea ; 
She was the grandest of all vessels, 
Never ship was built in Norway 

Half so fine as she ! 

The Long Serpent was she christened, 

'Mid the roar of cheer on cheer ! 
They who to the Saga listened 
Heard the name of Thorberg Skafting 
For a hundred year ! 

XIV. 
THE CREW OF THE LONG SERPENT. 

Safe at anchor in Drontheim bay 
King Olaf's fleet assembled lay, 
And, striped with white and blue, 



314 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Downward fluttered sail and banner, 
As alights the screaming lanner ; 
Lustily cheered, in their wild manner, 
The Long Serpent's crew. 

Her forecastle man was Ulf the Red ; 
Like a wolf's was his shaggy head, 

His teeth as large and white ; 
His beard, of gray and russet blended, 
Round as a swallow's nest descended; 
As standard-bearer he defended 

Olaf's flag in the fight. 

Near him Kolbiorn had his place, 
Like the King in garb and face, 

So gallant and so hale ; 
Every cabin-boy and varlet 
Wondered at his cloak of scarlet ; 
Like a river, frozen and star-lit, 

Gleamed his coat-of-mail. 

By the bulkhead, tall and dark, 
Stood Thrand Rame of Thelemark, 

A figure gaunt and grand ; 
On his hairy arm imprinted* 
Was an anchor, azure-tinted ; 
Like Thor's hammer, huge and dinted 

Was his brawny hand. 

Einar Tamberskelver, bare 
To the winds his golden hair, 

By the mainmast stood ; 
Graceful was his form, and slender, 
And lus.eyes were deep and tender 
As a woman's, in the splendor 

Of her maidenhood. 

In the fore-hold Biorn and Bork 
Watched the sailors at their work : 

Heavens ! how they swore ! 
Thirty men they each commanded, 
Iron sinewed, horny handed, 
Shoulders broad, and chests expanded, 

Tugging at the oar. 

These, and many more like these, 
With King Olaf sailed the seas, 

Till the waters vast 
Filled them with a vague devotion, 
With the freedom and the motion, 
With the roll and roar of ocean 

And the sounding blast. 

When they landed from the fleet. 
How they roared through Drontheim's 
street, 



Boisterous as the gale ! 
How they laughed and stamped and 

pounded, 
Till the tavern roof resounded, 
And the host looked on astounded 

As they drank the ale ! 

Never saw the wild North Sea 
Such a gallant company 

Sail its billows blue ! 
Never, while they cruised and quar- 
relled, 
Old King Gorm, or Blue-Tooth Harald, 
Owned a ship so well apparelled, * 

Boasted such a crew 1 



xv. 

A LITTLE BIRD IN THE AIR. 

A little bird in the air 
Is singing of Thyri the fair, 

The sister of Svend the Dane ; 

And the song of the garrulous bird 

In the streets of the town is heard, 

And repeated again and attain. 

Hoist up your sails of silk, 

And flee away from each other. 

To King Burislaf, it is said, 
Was the beautiful Thyri wed, 

And a sorrowful bride went she ; 
And after a week and a day, 
She has fled away and away 

From his town by the stormy sea. 
1 1 1 ust up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

They say, that through heat and through 

cold, 
Through weald, they say, and through 
wold, 
By day and by night, they say,- 
She has fled ; and the gossips report 
She has come to King Olafs court, 
And the town is all in dismay. 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

It is whispered King Olaf has seen, 
Has talked with the beautiful Queen ; 

And ihey wonder how it will end ; 
For surely, if here she remain, 
It is war with King Svend the Dane, 
And King Burislaf the Vend ! 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 






THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



I 



3i5 



O, greatest wonder of all ! 

It is published in hamlet and hall, 

It roars like a flame that is fanned ! 
The King — yes, Olaf the King — 
Has wedded her with his ring, 
And Thyri is Queen in the land ! 
Hoist up your sails of silk, 
And flee away from each other. 

xvi. . 

QUEEN THYRI AND THE ANGELICA 
STALKS. 

Northward over Drontheim, 
Flew the clamorous sea-gulls, 
Sang the lark and linnet 
From the meadows green ; 

Weeping in her chamber, 
Lonely and unhappy, 
Sat the Drottning Thyri, 
Sat King Olafs Queen. 

In at all the windows 
Streamed the pleasant sunshine, 
On the roof above her 
Softly cooed the dove ; 

But the sound she heard not, 
Nor the sunshine heeded. 
For the thoughts of Thyri 
Were not thoughts of love. 

Then King Olaf entered, 
Beautiful as morning, 
Like the sun at Easter 
Shone his happy face ; 

In his hand he carried 
Angelicas uprooted, 
With delicious fragrance 
Filling all the place. 

Like a rainy midnight 
Sat the Drottning Thyri, 
Even the smile of Olaf 

Could not cheer her gloom ; 

Nor the stalks he gave her 
With a gracious gesture, 
And with words as pleasant 
As their own perfume. 

In her hands he placed them, 
And her jewelled fingers 
Through the green leaves glistened 
Like the dews of morn ; 



But she cast them from her, 
Haughty and indignant, 
On the floor she threw them 
With a look of scorn. 

" Richer presents," said she, 
" Gave King Harald Gormson 
To the Queen, my mother, 
Than such worthless weeds ; 

"When he ravaged Norway, 
Laying waste the kingdom, 
Seizing scatt and treasure 
For her royal needs. 

" But thou darest not venture 
Through the Sound to Vendland, 
My« domains to rescue 
From King Burislaf ; 

" Lest King Svend of Denmark, 
Forked Beard, my brother, 
Scatter all thy vessels 
As the wind the chaff." 

Then up sprang King Olaf, 
Like a reindeer bounding, 
With an oath he answered 
Thus the luckless Queen : 

" Never yet did Olaf 
Fear King Svend of Denmark ; 
This right hand shall hale him 
By his forked chin ! " 

Then he left the chamber, 
Thundering through the doorway, 
Loud his steps resounded 
Down the outer stair. 

Smarting with the insult, 
Through the streets of Drontheim 
Strode he red and wrathful, 
With his stately air. 

All his ships he gathered, 
Summoned all his forces, 
Making his war levy 
In the region round ; 

Down the coast of Norway, 
Like a flock of sea-gulls, 
Sailed the fleet of Olaf 
Through the Danish Sound. 

With his own hand fearless, 
Steered he the Long Serpent, 
Strained the creaking cordage, 
Bent each boon and gaff ; 



3i6 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



Till in Vendland landing, 
The domains of Thyri 
He redeemed and rescued 
From King Burislaf. 

Then said Olaf, laughing, 
" Not ten yoke of oxen 
Have the power to draw us 
Like a woman's hair ! 

11 Now will I confess it, 
Better things are jewels 
Than angelica stalks are 
For a Queen to wear." 

XVII. 
KING SVEND OF THE FORKED BEARD. 

Loudly the sailors cheered 
Svend of the Forked Beard, 
As with his fleet he steered 

Southward to Vendland ; 
Where with their courses hauled 
All were together called, 
Under the Isle of Svald 

Near to the mainland. 

After Queen Gunhild s death, 
So the old Saga saith, 

Plighted Kins Svend his faith 

To Sigrid the Haughty ; 
And to avenge his bride, 
Soothing her wounded pride, 
Over the waters wide 

King Olaf sought he. 

Still on her scornful face, 
Blushing with deep disgrace, 
Bore she the crimson trace 

Of Olaf \s gauntlet ; 
Like a malignant star. 
Blazing in heaven afar, 
Red shone the angry scar 

Under her frontlet. 

Oft to King Svend she spake, 
44 For thine own honor's sake 
Shalt thou swift vengeance take 

On the vile coward ! " 
Until the King at last, 
Gusty and overcast, 
Like a tempestuous blast 

Threatened and lowered. 

Soon as the Spring appeared, 
Svend of the Forked Beard 
High his red standard reared, 
Lager for battle ; 



While every warlike Dane, 
Seizing his arms again, 
Left all unsown the grain, 
Unhoused the cattle. 

Likewise the Swedish King 
Summoned in haste a Thing, 
Weapons and men to bring 

In aid of Denmark ; 
Eric the Norseman, too, 
As the war-tidings flew, 
Sailed with a chosen crew 

From Lapland and Finmark. 

So upon Easter day 

Sailed the three kings away, 

Out of the sheltered bay, 

In the bright season ; 
With them Karl Sigvald came, 
Eager for spoil and fame ; 
Pity that such a name 

Stooped to such treason ! 

Safe under Svald at last, 
Now were their anchors cast, 
Safe from the sea and blast, 

Plotted the three kings ; 
While, with a base intent, 
Southward Earl Sigvald went, 
On a foul errand bent, 

Unto the Sea-kings. 

Thence to hold on his course, 
Unto King OlaPs force, 
Lying within the hoarse 

Mouths of Stet-haven ; 
Him to ensnare and bring, 
Unto the Danish king, 
Who his dead corse would fling 

Forth to the raven ! 

xvm. 

KING OLAF AND EARL SIGVALD. 

N the gray sea-sands 
King ( > 1 a f stands, 
Northward and seaward 
He points with his hands. 

With eddy and whirl 
J he sea-tides curl, 
Washing the sandals 
Of Sigvald the Earl. 

The manners shout, 
The ships swing about, 
The yards are all hoisted, 
The sails flutter out. 



THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



3i7 



The war-horns are played, 
The anchors are weighed, 
Like moths in the distance 
The sails flit and fade. 

The sea is like lead, 
The harbor lies dead, 
As a corse on the sea-shore, 
Whose spirit has fled ! 

On that fatal day, . 
The histories say, 
Seventy vessels 
Sailed out of the bay. 

But soon scattered wide 
O'er the billows they ride, 
While Sigvald and Olaf 
Sail side by side. 

Cried the Earl : " Follow me ! 
I your pilot will be, 
For I know all the channels 
Where flows the deep sea ! " 

So into the strait 
Where his foes lie in wait, 
Gallant King Olaf 
Sails to his fate ! 

Then the sea-fog veils 
The ships and their sails ; 
Queen Sigrid the Haughty, 
Thy vengeance prevails 1 

XIX. 
KING OLAF'S WAR-HORNS. 

" Strike the sails ! " King Olaf said ; 
Never shall men of mine take flight ; 
Never away from battle I fled, 
Never away from my foes ! 

Let God dispose 
Of my life in the fight ! " 

" Sound the horns ! " said Olaf the 

King; 
And suddenly through the drifting 

brume 
The blare of the horns began to ring, 
Like the terrible trumpet shock 

Of Regnarock, 
On the Day of Doom ! 

Louder and louder the war-horns sang 
Over the level floor of the flood ; 
All the sails came down with a clang, 
And there in the mist overhead 

The sun hung red 
As a drop of blood. 



Drifting down on the Danish fleet 
Three together the ships were lashed, 
So that neither should turn and re- 
treat ; 
In the midst, but in front of the rest 

The burnished crest 
Of the Serpent flashed. 

King Olaf stood on the quarter-deck, 
With bow of ash and arrows of oak, 
His gilded shield was without a fleck, 
His helmet inlaid with gold, 

And in many a fold 
Hung his crimson cloak. 

On the forecastle Ulf the Red 
Watched the lashing of the ships ; 
" If the Serpent lie so far ahead, 
We shall have hard work of it here," 

Said he with a sneer 
On his bearded lips. 

King Olaf laid an arrow on string, 
" Have I a coward on board? " said he. 
" Shoot it another way, O King ! " 
Sullenly answered Ulf, 

The old sea-wolf; 
" You have need of me ! " 

In front came Svend, the King of the 

Danes, 
Sweeping down with his fifty rowers ; 
To the right, the Swedish king with his 

thanes ; 
And on board of the Iron Beard 

Earl Eric steered 
To the left with his oars. 

" These soft Danes and Swedes," said 

the King, 
" At home with their wives had better 

stay,. 
Than come within reach of my Serpent's 

sting : 
But where Eric the Norseman leads 

Heroic deeds 
Will be done to-day ! " 

Then as together the vessels crashed, 
Eric severed the cables of hide, 
With which King Olaf's ships were 

lashed, 
And left them to drive and drift 

With the currents swift 
Of the outward tide. 



3x8 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



Louder the war-horns growl and snarl, 
Sharper the dragons bite and sting ! 
Eric the son of Hakon Jarl 
A death-drink salt as the sea 

Pledges to thee, 
Olaf the King ! 

xx. 

EINAR TAMBERSKELVER. 

It was Einar Tamberskelver 

Stood beside the mast ; 
From his yew-bow, tipped with silver, 

Flew the arrows fast ; 
Aimed at Eric unavailing, 

As he sat concealed, 
Half behind the quarter-railing, 

Half behind his shield. 

First an arrow struck the tiller, 

Just above his head ; 
"Sing, O Eyvind SUaldaspiller," 

Then Earl Eric said. 
" Sing the song of Hakon dying 

Sing his funeral wail ! " 
And another arrow flying 

Grazed his coat-of-mail. 

Turning to a Lapland yeoman, 

As the arrow passed, 
Said Earl Eric, " Shoot that bowman 

Standing by the mast." 
Sooner than the word was spoken 

Flew the yeoman's shaft ; 
Einar's bow in twain was broken, 

Einar only laughed. 

"What was that?" said Olaf, stand- 
ing 

On the quarter-deck. 
" Something heard I like the stranding 

Of a shattered wreck." 
Einar then, the arrow taking 

From the loosened string, 
Answered, " That was Norway break- 
ing 
From thy hand, O King ! " 

"Thou art but a poor diviner," 

Straightway Olaf said ; 
" Take my bow, and swifter, Einar, 

Let thy shafts be sped." 
Of his bows the fairest choosing, 

Reached he from above ; ' 
Einar saw the blood-drops oozing 

Through his iron glove. 



But the bow was thin and narrow ; 

At the first assay, 
O'er its head he drew the arrow, 

Flung the bow away ; 
Said, with hot and angry temper 

Flushing in his cheek, 
" Olaf! for so great a Kamper 

Are thy bows too weak ! " 

Then, with smile of joy defiant 

On his beardless lip, 
Scaled he, light and self-reliant, 

Eric's dragon-ship. 
Loose his golden locks were flowing, 

Bright his armor gleamed ; 
Like Saint Michael overthrowing 

Lucifer he seemed. 

XXI. 
KING OLAF'S DEATH-DRINK. 

All day has the battle raged, 
All day have the ships engaged, 
But not yet is assuaged 
The vengeance of Eric the Earl. 

The decks with blood are red. 
The arrows of death are sped, 
The ships are filled with the dead, 
And the spears the champions hurl. 

They drift as wrecks on the tide, 
The grappling-irons arc plied, 
The boarders climb up the side, 
The shouts are feeble and few. 

Ah ! never shall Norway again 
See her sailors come back 

main ; 

They all lie wounded or slain, 
Or asleep in the billows blue ! 

On the deck stands Olaf the King, 
Around him whistle and sing 
The spears that the foe men fling, 

And the stones they hurl with their 
hands. 

In the midst of the stones and the 

spears, 
Kolbiorn, the marshal, appears, 
His shield in the air he uprears, 
By the side of King Olaf he stands. 

Over the slippery wreck 
Of the Long Serpent's deck 
Sweeps Eric with hardly a check, 
His lips with anger are pale ; 



o'er 



the 






THE SAGA OF KING OLAF. 



3i9 



He hews with his axe at the mast, 
Till it falls, with the sails overcast, 
Like a snow-covered pine in the vast 
Dim forests of Orkadale. 

Seeking King Olaf then, 
He rushes aft with his men, 
As a hunter into the den 

Of the bear, when he stands at bay. 

" Remember Jarl Hak-on ! " he cries ; 
When lo J on his wondering eyes, 
Two kingly figures arise, 
Two Olafs in warlike array I 

Then Kolbiorn speaks in the ear 
Of King Olaf a word of cheer, 
In a whisper that none may hear* 
With a smile on his tremulous lip ; 

Two shields raised high in the air, 
Two flashes of golden hair, 
Two scarlet meteors' glare, 
And both have leaped from the ship. 

Earl Eric's men in the boats 
Seize Kolbiorn's shield as it floats, 
And cry, from their hairy throats, 
"See ! it is Olaf the King!" 

While far on the opposite side 
Floats another shield on the tide, 
Like a jewel set in the wide 
Sea-current's eddying ring. 

There is told a wonderful tale, 
How the King stripped off his mail, 
Like leaves of the brown sea-kale, 
As he swam beneath the main ; 

But the young grew old and gray, 
And never, by night or by day, 
In his kingdom of Norroway 
Was King Olaf seen again 1 

XXII. 
THE NUN OF NIDAROS. 

In the convent of Drontheim, 
Alone in her chamber 
Knelt Astrid the Abbess, 
At midnight, adoring, 
Beseeching^ entreating 
The Virgin and Mother. 

She heard in the silence 
The voice of one speaking, 
Without in the darkness, 
In gusts of the night-wind 



Now louder, now nearer, 
Now lost in the distance. 

The voice of a stranger 
It seemed as she listened, 
Of some one who answered, 
Beseeching, imploring, 
A cry from afar off 
She could not distinguish. 

The voice of Saint John, 
The beloved disciple, 
Who wandered and waited 
The Master's appearance, 
Alone in the darkness, 
Unsheltered and friendless. 

" It is accepted 

The angry defiance, 
The challenge of battle ) 
It is accepted, 
But not with the weapons 
Of war that thou wieldest ! 

" Cross against corslet, 

Love against haired, 

Peace-cry for war-cry ! 

Patience is powerful ; 

He that o'ercometh 

Hath power o'er the nations ! 

"As torrents in summer, 
Half dried in their channels, 
Suddenly rise, though the 
Sky is still cloudless, 
For rain has been falling 
Far off at their fountains ; 

" So hearts that are fainting 
Grow full to overflowing, 
And they that behold it 
Marvel, and know not 
That God at their fountains 
Far off has been raining ! 

" Stronger than steel 
Is the sword of the Spirit ; 
Swifter than arrows 
The light of the truth is, 
Greater than anger 
Is love, and subdueth ! 

" Thou art a phantom, 
A shape of the sea-mist, 
A shape of the brumal 
Rain, and the darkness 
Fearful and formless ; 
Day dawns and thou art not ! 



320 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



" The dawn is not distant, 
Nor is the night starless ; 
Love is eternal ! 
God is still God, and 
His faith shall not fail us ; 
Christ is eternal ! " 



INTERLUDE. 

A strain of music closed the tale, 
A low, monotonous, funeral wail, 
That with its cadence, wild and sweet, 
Made the long Saga more complete. 

"Thank God," the Theologian said, 
"The reign of violence is dead, 
Or dying surely from the world ; 
While Love triumphant reigns instead, 
And in a brighter sky o'erhead 
His blessed banners are unfurled. 
And most of all thank God for this : 
The war and waste of clashing creeds 
Now end in words, and not in deeds, 
And no one suffers loss, or bleeds, 
For thoughts that men call heresies. 

" I stand without here in the porch, 

I hear the bell's melodious din, 

I hear the organ peal within, 

I hear the prayer, with words that 

scorch 
Like sparks from an inverted torch, 
I hear the sermon upon sin, 
With threatenings of the last account. 
And all, translated in the air, 
Reach me but as our dear Lord's 

Prayer, 
And as the Sermon on the Mount. 

" Must it be Calvin, and not Christ ? 
Must it be Athanasian creeds, 
Or holy water, books, and beads ? 
Must struggling souls remain content 
With councils and decrees of Trent ? 
And can it be enough for these 
The Christian Church the year embalms 
With evergreens and boughs of palms, 
And fills the air with litanies? 

" I know that yonder Pharisee 
Thanks God that he is not like me ; 
In my humiliation dressed, 
I only stand and beat my breast, 
And pray for human charity. 



" Not to one church alone, but seven, 

The voice prophetic spake from heaven ; 

And unto each the promise came, 

Diversified, but still the same ; 

For him that overcometh are 

The new name written on the stone, 

The raiment white, the crown, the 

throne, 
And I will give him the Morning Star ! 

" Ah ! to how many Faith has been 
No evidence of things unseen, 
But a dim shadow, that recasts 
The creed of the Phantasiasts, 
For whom no Man of Sorrows died, 
For whom the Tragedy Divine 
Was but a symbol and a sign, 
And Christ a phantom crucified ! 

" For others a diviner creed 
Is living in the life they lead. 
The passing of their beautiful feet 
Blesses the pavement of the street, 
And all their looks and words repeat 
Old Fuller's saying, wise and sweet, 
Not as a vulture, but a dove, 
The Holy Ghost came from above. 

" And this brings back to me a tale 
So sad the hearer well may quail, 
And question if such things can be ; 
Yet in the chronicles of Spain 
Down the dark pages runs this stain, 
And naught can wash them white again, 
So fearful is the tragedy." 






THE THEOLOGIAN'S TALE. 

TORQUEMADA. 

In t the heroic days when Ferdinand 
And Isabella ruled the Spanish land, 
And Torquemada, with his subtle brain, 
Ruled them, as Grand Inquisitor of 

Spain, 
In a great castle near Valladolid, 
Moated and high and by fair woodlands 

hid, 
There dwelt, as from the chronicles we 

learn, 
An old Hidalgo proud and taciturn. 
Whose name has perished, with his 

towers of stone, 
And all his actions save this one alone ; 



I 



TORQUEMADA. 



321 



This one, so terrible, perhaps 't were 
best 

If it, too, were forgotten with the rest ; 

Unless, perchance, our eyes can see 
therein 

The martyrdom triumphant o'er the sin; 

A double picture, with its gloom and 
glow, 

The splendor overhead, the death be- 
low. 

This sombre man counted each day as 

lost 
On which his feet no sacred threshold 

crossed ; 
And when he chanced the passing Host 

to meet, 
He knelt and prayed devoutly in the 

street ; 
Oft he confessed ; and with each muti- 
nous thought, 
As with wild beasts at Ephesus, he 

fought. 
In deep contrition scourged himself in 

Lent, 
Walked in processions, with his head 

down bent, 
At plays of Corpus Christi oft was 

seen, 
And on Palm Sunday bore his bough 

of green. 
His sole diversion was to hunt the 

boar 
Through tangled thickets of the forest 

hoar, 
Or with his jingling mules to hurry 

down 
To some grand bull-fight in the neigh- 
boring town, 
Or in the crowd with lighted taper 

stand, 
When Jews were burned, or banished 

from the land. 
Then stirred within him a tumultuous 

joy; ,.','. 

The demon whose delight is to destroy 
Shook him, and shouted with a trumpet 

tone, 
" Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find out 

his own !" 

And now, in that old castle in the 
wood, 

His daughters, in the dawn of woman- 
hood, 

21 



Returning from their convent school, 

had made 
Resplendent with their bloom the forest 

shade, 
Reminding him of their dead mother's 

face, 
When first she came into that gloomy 

place, — 
A memory in his heart as dim and 

sweet 
As moonlight in a solitary street, 
Where the same rays, that lift the sea, 

are thrown 
Lovely but powerless upon walls of 

stone. 
These two fair daughters of a mother 

dead 
Were all the dream had left him as it 

fled. 
A joy at first, and then a growing care, 
As if a voice within him cried, " Be- 
ware ! " 
A vague presentiment of impending 

doom, 
Like ghostly footsteps in a vacant room, 
Haunted him day and night ; a form- 
less fear 
That death to some one of his house 

was near, 
With dark surmises of a hidden crime, 
Made life itself a death before its time. 
Jealous, suspicious, with no sense of 

shame, 
A spy upon his daughters he became ; 
With velvet slippers, noiseless on the 

floors, 
He glided softly through half-open 

doors ; 
Now in the room, and now upon the 

stair, 
He stood beside them ere they were 

aware ; 
He listened in the passage when they 

talked, 
He watched them from the casement 

when they walked, 
He saw the gypsy haunt the river's 

side, 
He saw the monk among the cork-trees 

glide ; 
And, tortured by the mystery and the 

doubt 
Of some dark secret, past his finding 

out, 



322 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



Baffled he paused; then reassured 

again 
Pursued the flying phantom of his 

brain. 
He watched them even when they knelt 

in church ; 
And then, descending lower in his 

search, 
Questioned the servants, and with eager 

eyes 
Listened incredulous to their replies ; 
The gypsy? none had seen her in the 

wood ! 
The monk ? a mendicant in search of 

food! 

At length the awful revelation came, 
Crushing at once his pride of birth and 

name, 
The hopes his yearning bosom forward 

cast, 
And the ancestral glories of the past ; 
All fell together, crumbling in disgrace, 
A turret rent from battlement to base. 
His daughters talking in the dead of 

night 
In their own chamber, and without a 

light, 
Listening, as he was wont, he overheard, 
And learned the dreadful secret, word 

by word ; 
And hurrying from his castle, with a 

cry 
He raised his hands to the unpitying 

sky, 
Repeating one dread word, till bush 

and tree 
Caught it, and shuddering answered, 

"Heresy!" 

Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn 

o'er his face, 
Now hurrying forward, now with linger- 

ing'pace, 
He walked all night the alleys of his 

park, 
With one unseen companion in the 

dark, 
The Demon who within him lay in 

wait, 
And by his presence turned his love to 

hate, 
Forever muttering in an undertone, 
" Kill ! kill ! and let the Lord find out 

his own ! " 



Upon the morrow, after early Mass, 
While yet the dew was glistening on 

the grass, 
And all the woods were musical with 

birds, 
The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful words, 
Walked homeward with the Priest, and 

in his room 
Summoned his trembling daughters to 

their doom. 
When questioned, with brief answers 

they replied, 
Nor when accused evaded or denied ; 
Expostulations, passionate appeals, 
All that the human heart most fears or 

feels, 
In vain the Priest with earnest voice 

essayed, 
In vain the father threatened, wept, . 

and prayed ; 
Until at last he said, with haughty mien, 
"The Holy Office, then, must inter- 






vene 



i »» 



And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, 
With all the fifty horsemen of his train, 
His awful name resounding, like the 

blast 
Of funeral trumpets, as he onward 

passed, 
Came to Valladolid, and there began 
To harry the rich Jews with fire and ban. 
To him the Hidalgo went, and at the 

gate 
Demanded audience on affairs of state, 
And in a secret chamber stood before 
A venerable graybeard of fourscore, 
Dressed in the hood and habit of a 

friar ; 
Out of his eyes fashed a consuming fire, 
And in his hand the mystic horn he held, 
Which poison and all noxious charms 

dispelled. 
He heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale, 
Then answered in a voice that made 

him quail : 
" Son of the Church ! when Abraham 

of old 
To sacrifice his only son was told, 
He did not pause to parley nor protest, 
But hastened to obey the Lord's behest. 
In him it was accounted righteousness ; 
The Holy Church expects of thee no 

less ! " 



\ 



TORQUEMADA. 



323 



A sacred frenzy seized the father's 

brain, 
And Mercy from that hour implored in 

vain. 
Ah ! who will e'er believe the words I 

say? 
His daughters he accused, and the same 

day 
They both were cast into the dungeon's 

gloom, 
That dismal antechamber of the tomb, 
Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced 

to the flame, 
The secret torture and the public shame. 

Then to the Grand Inquisitor once 

more 
The Hidalgo went, more eager than 

before, 
And said : " When Abraham offered 

up his son, 
He clave the wood wherewith it might 

be done. 
By his example taught, let me too bring 
Wood from the forest for my offering ! " 
And the deep voice, without a pause, 

replied : 
" Son of the Church ! by faith now 

justified, 
Complete thy sacrifice, even as thou wilt; 
The Church absolves thy conscience 

from all guilt ! " 

Then this most wretched father went 

his way 
Into the woods, that round his castle lay, 
Where once his daughters in their 

childhood played 
With their young mother in the sun 

and shade. 
Now all the leaves had fallen ; the 

branches bare 
Made a perpetual moaning in the air, 
And screaming from their eyries over- 
head 
The ravens sailed athwart the sky of 

lead. 
With his own hands he lopped the 

boughs and bound 
Fagots, that crackled with foreboding 

sound, 
And on his mules, caparisoned and 

.gay 
With bells and tassels, sent them on 

their way. 



Then with his mind on one dark pur- 
pose bent, 
Again to the Inquisitor he went, 
And said : " Behold, the fagots I have 

brought, 
And now, lest my atonement be as 

naught, 
Grant me one more request, one last 

desire, — 
With my own hand to light the funeral 

fire ! " 
And Torquemada answered from his 

seat, 
" Son of the Church ! thine offering 

is complete ; 
Her servants through all ages shall not 

cease 
To magnify thy deed. Depart in 

peace ! " 

Upon the market-place, builded of stone 
The scaffold rose, whereon Death 

claimed his own. 
At the four corners, in stern attitude, 
Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets 

stood, 
Gazing with calm indifference in their 

eyes 
Upon this place of human sacrifice, 
Round which was gathering fast the 

eager crowd, 
With clamor of voices dissonant and 

loud, 
And every roof and window was alive 
With restless gazers, swarming like a 

hive. 

The church-bells tolled, the chant of 

monks drew near, 
Loud trumpets stammered forth their 

notes of fear, 
A line of torches smoked along the 

street, 
There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet, 
And, with its banners floating in the air, 
Slowly the long procession crossed the 

square, 
And, to the statues of the Prophets 

bound, 
The victims stood, with fagots piled 

around. 
Then all the air a blast of trumpets 

shook, 
And louder sang the monks with bell 

and book, 



324 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



And the Hildalgo, lofty, stern, and 

proud, 
Lifted his torch, and, bursting through 

the crowd, 
Lighted in haste the fagots, and then 

fled, 
Lest those imploring eyes should strike 

him dead ! 

O pitiless skies ! why did your clouds 

retain 
For peasants' fields their floods of 

hoarded rain ? 
O pitiless earth ! why opened no abyss 
To bury in its chasm a crime like 

this ? 

That night, a mingled column of fire 

and smoke 
From the dark thickets of the forest 

broke, 
And, glaring o'er the landscape leagues 

away, 
Made all the fields and hamlets bright 

as day. 
Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle 

blazed, 
And as the villagers in terror gazed, 
They saw the figure of that cruel knight 
Lean from a window in the turret's 

height, 
His ghastly face illumined with the 

S lare > 
His hands upraised above his head in 

prayer, 

Till the floor sank beneath him, and he 
fell 

Down the black hollow of that burn- 
ing well. 

Three centuries and more above his 

bones 
Have piled the oblivious years like 

funeral stones ; 
His name has perished with him, and 

no trace 
Remains on earth of his afflicted race ; 
But Torquemada's name, with clouds 

o'ercast, 
Looms in the distant landscape of the 

Past, 
Like a burnt tower upon a blackened 

heath, 
Lit by the fires of burning woods be- 
neath 1 



INTERLUDE. 

Thus closed the tale of guilt and gloom, 
That cast upon each listener's face 
Its shadow, and for some brief space 
Unbroken silence filled the room. 
The Jew was thoughtful and distressed ; 
Upon his memory thronged and pressed 
The persecution of his race, 
Their wrongs and sufferings and dis- 
grace ; 
'His head was sunk upon his breast, 
And from his eyes alternate came 
Flashes of wrath and tears of shame. 

The student first the silence broke, 

As one who long has lain in wait, 

With purpose to retaliate, 

And thus he dealt the avenging stroke. 

" In such a company as this, 

A tale so tragic seems amiss, 

That by its terrible control 

O'ermasters and drags down the soul 

Into a fathomless abyss. 

The Italian Tales that you disdain, 

Some merry Night of Straparole, 

Or Machiavelli's Belphagor, 

Would cheer us and delight us more, 

Give greater pleasure and less pain 

Than your grim tragedies of Spain ! " 

And here the Poet raised his hand, 
With such entreaty and command, 
It stopped discussion at its birth, 
And said : " The story I shall tell 
Has meaning in it, if not mirth ; 
Listen, and hear what once befell 
The merry birds of Killingworth 1 " 



THE POET'S TALE. 

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. 

It was the season, when through all the 
land 
The merle and mavis build, and 
building sing 
Those lovelylyrics, written by His hand, 
Whom Saxon Caedmon calls the 
Blithe-heart King : 
When on the boughs the purple buds 
expand, 
The banners of the vanguard of the 
Spring, 



THE BIRDS OF KILLINGIVORTH. 



325 



And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, 
And wave their fluttering signals from 
the steep. 

The robin and the bluebird, piping 

loud, 
Filled all the blossoming orchards 

with their glee ; 
The sparrows chirped as if they still 

were proud 
Their race in Holy Writ should 

mentioned be ; 
And hungry crows, assembled in a 

crowd, 
Clamored their piteous prayer inces- 
santly, 
Knowing who hears the ravens cry, 

and said : 
" Give us, O Lord, this day our daily 

bread ! " 

Across the Sound the birds of passage 

sailed, 
Speaking some unknown language 

strange and sweet 
Of tropic isle remote, and passing 

hailed 
The village with the cheers of all 

their fleet ; 
Or quarrelling together, laughed and 

railed 
Like foreign sailors, landed in the 

street 
Of seaport town, and with outlandish 

noise 
Of oaths and gibberish frightening girls 

and boys. 

Thus came the jocund Spring in Kil- 
lingworth, 
In fabulous days, some hundred 
years ago ; 
And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the 
earth, 
Heard with alarm the cawing of the 
crow, 
That mingled with the universal mirth, 
Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe ; 
They shook their heads, and doomed 

with dreadful words 
To swift destruction the whole race of 
birds. 

And a town-meeting was convened 
straightway 
To set a "price upon the guilty heads 



Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay, 
Levied black-mail upon the garden 
beds 

And cornfields, and beheld without 
dismay 
The awful scarecrow, with his flut- 
tering shreds ; 

The skeleton that waited at their feast, 

Whereby their sinful pleasure was in- 
creased. 

Then from his house, a temple painted 

white, 
With fluted columns, and a roof of 

red. 
The Squire came forth, august and 

splendid sight ! 
Slowly descending, with majestic 

tread, 
Three flights of steps, nor looking left 

nor right, 
Down the long street he walked, as 

one who said, 
" A town that boasts inhabitants like 

me 
Can have no lack of good society ! " 

The Parson, too, appeared, a man aus- 
tere, 
The instinct of whose nature was to 

kill; 
The wrath of God he preached from 

year to year, 
And read, with fervor, Edwards on 

the Will ; 
His favorite pastime was to slay the 

deer 
In Summer on some Adirondac hill ; 
E'en now, while walking down the 

rural lane, 
He lopped the wayside lilies with his 

cane. 

From the Academy, whose belfry 
crowned 
The hill of Science with its vane of 
brass, 
Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, 
Now at the clouds, and now at the 
green grass, 
And all absorbed in reveries profound 

Of fair Almira in the upper class. 
Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, 
As pure as water, and as good as 
bread. 



3 26 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN. 



And next the Deacon issued from his 
door, 
In his voluminous neck-cloth, white 
as snow ; 
A suit of sable bombazine he wore ; 
His form was ponderous, and his 
step was slow ; 
There never was so wise a man before ; 
He seemed the incarnate " Well. I 
told you so ! " 
And to perpetuate his great renown 
There was -a street named after him in 
town. 

These came together in the new town- 
hall. 
With sundry farmers from the region 
round. 
The Squire presided, dignified and tall. 
His air impressive and his reasoning 
sound ; 
111 fared it with the birds, both great 
and small ; 
Hardly a friend in ail that crowd 
they found. 
But enemies enough, who every one 
Charged them with all the crimes be- 
neath the sun. 

When they had ended, from his place 

apart, 
Rose the Preceptor, to redress the 

wrone, 
And, trembling like a steed before the 

start, 
Looked round bewildered on the ex- 
pectant throi 
Then thought of fair Almira, and took 

heart 
To speak out what was in him, clear 

and strong, 
Alike regardless of their smile or frown, 
And quite determined not to be laughed 

down. 

11 Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, 
From his Republic banished without 

F' l >' 
The Poets; in this little town of yours, 

You put to djath, by means of a 
Commitu 
The ballad-singers and the Trouba- 
dours, 

The street-musicians of the heavenly 
city, 



The birds, who make sweet music for 

us all 
In our dark hours, as David did for 

Saul. 

" The thrush that carols at the dawn 
of day 
From the green steeples of the piny 
wood ; 
The oriole in the elm ; the noisy jay, 

Jargoning like a foreigner at his food ; 
The bluebird balanced on some top- 
most spray, 
Flooding with melody the neighbor- 
hood ; 
Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the 

throng 
That dwell in nests, and have the gift 
of song. 

"You slay them all! and wherefore? 
for the gain 
Of a scant handful more or less of 
wheat, 
Or rye, or bailey, or some other grain, 
Scratched up at random by industri- 
ous feet, 
Searching for worm or weevil after 
rain ! 
Or a few cherries, that are not so 
sweet 
arc the songs these uninvited guests 
Sing at their feast with comfortable 
breas; 

"Do you ne'er think what wondrous 
beings these? 
Do you ne'er think who made them, 
and who taught 
The dialect they speak, where melodies 
Alone are the interp ret er s of thought ? 
Whose household words are songs in 
many key 
Sweeter than instrument of man e'er 
caught ! 
Whose habitations in the tree-tops r- 
Are half-way houses on the road to 
heaven ! 

" Think, everv morning when the sun 
peeps through 
The dim, leaf-latticed windows of ; 
grove, 
How jubilant the happy birds re: 
Their old, melodious madrigals of 
love 1 



THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. 



327 



And when you think of this, remember 
too 
'T is always morning somewhere, and 
above 

The awakening continents, from shore 
to shore, 

Somewhere the birds are singing ever- 
more. 

"Think of your woods and orchards 
without birds ! • 
Of empty nests that cling to boughs 
and beams 
As in an idiot's brain remembered words 
Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his 
dreams ! 
Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds 
Make up for the lost music, when your 
teams 
Drag home the stingy harvest, and no 

more 
The feathered gleaners follow to your 
door? 

'* What ! would you rather see the in- 
cessant stir 
Of insects in the windrows of the hay, 
And hear the locust and the grasshop- 
per 
Their melancholy hurdy-gurdiesplay? 
Is this more pleasant to you than the 
whir 
Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roun- 
delay, 
Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take 
Your nooning in the shade of bush and 
brake ? 

" You call them thieves and pillagers ; 
but know, 
They are the winged wardens of your 
farms, 
Who from the cornfields drive the in- 
sidious foe, 
And from your harvests keep a hun- 
dred harms ; 
Even the blackest of them all, the crow, 
Renders good service as your man- 
at-arms, 
Crushing the beetle in his coat-of-mail, 
And crying havoc on the slug and snail. 

" How can I teach your children gentle- 
ness, 
And mercy to the weak, and rever- 
ence 



For Life, which, in its weakness or 

excess, 
Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, 
Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is 

no less 
The selfsame light, although averted 

hence, 
When by your laws, your actions, and 

your speech, 
You contradict the very things I teach? " 

With this he closed ; and through the 

audience went 
A murmur, like the rustle of dead 

leaves ; 
The farmers laughed and nodded, and 

some bent 
Their yellow heads together like their 

sheaves ; 
Men have no faith in fine-spun senti- 
ment 
Who put their trust in bullocks and 

in beeves. 
The birds were doomed ; and, as the 

record shows, 
A bounty offered for the heads of crows. 

There was another audience out of 
reach, 
Who had no voice nor vote in making 
laws, 
But in the papers read his little speech, 
And crowned his modest temples with 
applause ; 
They made him conscious, each one 
more than each, 
He still was victor, vanquished in 
their cause. 
Sweetest of all the applause he won 

from thee, 
O fair Almira at the Academy ! 

And so the dreadful massacre began ; 
O'er fields and orchards, and o'er 
woodland crests, 
The ceaseless fusillade of terror ran.^ 
Dead fell the birds, with blood-stains 
on their breasts, 
Or wounded crept away from sight of 
man, 
While the young died of famine in 
their nests ; 
A slaughter to be told in groans, not 

words, 
The very St. Bartholomew of Birds ! 



328 



TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN 



The Summer came, and all the birds 
were dead ; 
The days were like hot coals ; the 
very ground 
Was burned to ashes ; in the orchards 
fed 
Myriads of caterpillars, and around 
The cultivated fields and garden beds 
Hosts of devouring insects crawled, 
and found 
No foe to check their march, till they 

had made 
The land a desert without leaf or shade. 

Devoured by worms, like Herod, was 
the town, 
Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly 
Slaughtered the Innocents. From the 
trees spun down 
The canker-worms upon the passers- 
by, 
Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and 
gown, 
Who shook them off with just a little 
cry ; 
They were the terror of each favorite 

walk, 
The endless theme of all the village talk. 

The farmers grew impatient, but a few 
Confessed their error, and would not 
complain, 
For after all, the best thing one can do 

When it is raining, is to let it rain. 
Then they repealed the law, although 
they knew 
It would not call the dead to life again ; 
As school-boys, finding their mistake 

too late, 
Draw a wet sponge across the accusing 
slate. 

That year in Killingworth the Autumn 
came 
Without the light of his majestic look, 
The wonder of the falling tongues of 
flame, 
The illumined pages of his Doom's- 
day Book. 
A few lost leaves blushed crimson with 
their shame, 
And drowned themselves despairing 
in the brook, 
While the wild wind went moaning 

everywhere, 
Lamenting the dead children of the air ! 



But the next Spring a stranger sight was 
seen, 
A sight that never yet by bard was 
sung, 
As great a wonder as it would have been 
If some dumb animal had found a 
tongue ! 
A wagon, overarched with evergreen, 
Upon whose boughs were wickercages 
hung. 
All full of singing birds, came down the 

street, 
Filling the air with music wild and sweet. 

From all the country round these birds 
were brought, 
By order of the town, with anxious 
quest, 

And, loosened from their wicker pris- 
ons, sought 
In woods and fields the places they 
loved best, 

Singing loud canticles, which many 
thought 
Were satires to the authorities ad- 
dressed, 

While others, listening in green lanes, 
averred 

Such lovely music never had been 
heard ! . 

But blither still and louder carolled 
they 
Upon the morrow, for they seemed to 
know 
It was the fair Almira's wedding-day, 
And everywhere, around, above, be- 
low, 
When the Preceptor bore his bride 
away, 
Their songs burst forth in joyous 
overflow, 
And a new heaven bent over a "new 

earth 
Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth. 



FINALE. 

The hour was late ; the fire burned low, 
The Landlord's eyes were closed in 

sleep, 
And near the story's end a deep 
Sonorous sound at times w.is heard, 
As when the distant bagpipes blow. 



ENCELADUS. 



329 



At this all laughed ; the Landlord 

stirred. 
As one awaking from a swound, 
And, gazing anxiously around, 
Protested that he had not slept, 
But only shut his eyes, and kept 
His ears attentive to each word. 

Then all arose, and said " Good Night." 
Alone remained the drowsy Squire 



To rake the embers of the fire, 
And quench the waning parlor light ; 
While from the windows, here and 

there, 
The scattered lamps a moment gleamed, 
And the illumined hostel seemed 
The constellation of the Bear, 
Downward, athwart the misty air, 
Sinking and setting toward the sun. 
Far off the village clock struck one. 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



FLIGHT THE SECOND. 



THE CHILDREN'S HOUR. 

Between the dark and the daylight, 
When the night is beginning to lower, 

Comes a pause in the day's occupations, 
That is known as the Children's Hour. 

I hear in the chamber above me 

The patter of little feet, 
The sound of a door that is opened, 

And voices soft and sweet. 

From my study I see in the lamplight, 
Descending the broad hall stair, 

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, 
And Edith with golden hair. 

A whisper, and then a silence : 
Yet I know by their merry eyes 

They are plotting and planning together 
To take me by surprise. 

A sudden rush from the stairway, 
A sudden raid from the hall ! 

By three doors left unguarded 
They enter my castle wall ! 

They climb up into my turret 

O'er the arms and back of my chair ; 

If I try to escape, they surround me ; 
They seem to be everywhere. 

They almost devour me with kisses, 
Their arms about me entwine, 

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen 
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine ! 

Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, 
Because you have scaled the wall, 

Such an old mustache as I am 
Is not a match for you all ! N 



I have you fast in my fortress, 
And will not let you depart, 

But put you down into the dungeon 
In the round-tower of my heart. 

And there will I keep you forever, 

Yes, forever and a day, 
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, 

And moulder in dust away ! 



ENCELADUS. 

Under Mount Etna he lies, 

It is slumber, it is not death ; 
For he struggles at times to arise, 
And above him the lurid skies 
Are hot with his fiery breath. 

The crags are piled on his breast, 

The earth is heaped on his head ; 
But the groans of his wild unrest, 
Thoughsmothered and half suppressed, 
Are heard, and he is not dead, 

And the nations far away 

Are watching with eager eyes ; 
They talk together and say, 
" To-morrow, perhaps to-day, 
Enceladus will arise ! " 

And the old gods, the austere 

Oppressors in their strength, 
Stand aghast and white with fear 
At the ominous sounds they hear, 
And tremble, and mutter, 
length ! " 

Ah me ! for the land that is sown 
With the harvest of despair ! 




33° 



BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 



Where the burning cinders, blown 
From the lips of the overthrown 
Enceladus, fill the air. 

Where ashes are heaped in drifts 

Over vineyard and field and town, 
Whenever he starts and lifts 
His head through the blackened rifts 
Of the crags that keep him down. 

See, see ! the red light shines ! 

'T is the glare of his awful eyes ! 
And the storm-wind shouts through 

the pines 
Of Alps and of Apennines, 

" Enceladus, arise ! " 



THE CUMBERLAND. 

At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, 
On board of the Cumberland, sloop- 
of-war : 
And at times from the fortress across the 
bay 
The alarum of drums swept past, 
Or a bugle blast 
From the camp on the shore. 

Then far away to the south uprose 

A little feather of snow-white smoke, 
And we knew that the iron ship of our 
foes 
Was steadily steering its course 
To try the force 
Of our ribs of oak. 

Down upon us heavily runs, 

Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; 
Then comes a puff of smoke from her 
guns, 
And leaps the terrible death, 
With fiery breath, 
From each open port 

We are not idle, but send her straight 

Defiance back in a full broadside ! 
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, 
Rebounds our heavier hail 
From each iron scale 
Of the monster's hide. 

11 Strike your flag ! " the rebel cries, 

In his arrogant old plantation strain. 
" Never ! " our gallant Morris roolies ; 
" It is better to sink than to yield ! " 
And the whole air pealed 
With the cheers of our men. 



Then, like a kraken huge and black, 

She crushedour ribsin her iron grasp! 
Down went the Cumberland all a wrack, 
With a sudden shudder of death, 
And the cannon's breath 
For her dying gasp. 

Next morn, as the sun rose over the bay, 
Still floated our flag at the mainmast 
head. 
Lord, how beautiful was Thy day 1 
Every waft of the air 
Was a whisper of prayer, 
Or a dirge for the dead. 

Ho ! brave hearts that went down in the 
seas ! 
Ye are at peace in the troubled stream ; 
Ho! brave land! with hearts like these, 
Thy flag, that is rent in twain, 
Shall be one again, 
And without a seam 1 



SNOW-FLAKES. 

Out of the bosom of the Air, 

Out of the cloud-folds of hergarments 
shaken, 
Over the woodlands browTi and bare, 
Over the harvest-fields forsaken, 
Silent, and soft, and slow 
Descends the snow. 

Even as our cloudy fancies take 
Suddenly shape in some divine ex- 
pression, 
Even as the troubled heart doth make 
In the white countenance confession, 
The troubled sky reveals 
The grief it feels. 

This is the poem of the air, 

Slowly in silent syllables recorded ; 
This is the secret of despair, 

Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, 
Now whispered and revealed 
To wood and field. 



A DAY OF SUNSHINE. 

O gift of God ! O perfect day : 
Whereon shall no man work, but play ; 
Whereon it is enough for me, 
Not Lo be doing, but to be ! 



WEARINESS. 



33i 



Through every fibre of my brain, 
Through every nerve, through every 

vein, 
I feel the electric thrill, the touch 
Of life, that seems almost too much. 

I hear the wind among the trees 
Playing celestial symphonies ; 
I see the branches downward bent, 
Like keys of some great instrument. 

And over me unrolls on high 
The splendid scenery of the sky, 
Where through a sapphire sea the sun 
Sails like a golden galleon, 

Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, 
Towards yonder Islands of the Blest, 
Whose steep sierra far uplifts 
Its craggy summits white with drifts. 

Blow, winds ! and waft through all the 

rooms 
The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms ! 
Blow, winds ! and bend within my reach 
The fiery blossoms of the peach ! 

O Life and Love ! O happy throng 
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song ! 
O heart of man ! canst thou not be 
Blithe as the air is, and as free ? 

i860. 

SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE. 

Labor with what zeal we will, 
Something still remains undone, 

Something uncompleted still 
Waits the rising of the sun. 

By the bedside, on the stair, 

At the threshold, near the gates, 

With its menace or its prayer, 
Like a mendicant it waits ; 

Waits, and will not go away ; 
Waits, and will not be gainsaid ; 



By the cares of yesterday 

Each to-day is heavier made ; 

Till at length the burden seems 
Greater than our strength can bear, 

Heavy as the weight of dreams, 
Pressing on us everywhere. 

And we stand from day to day, 
Like the dwarfs of times gone by, 

Who, as Northern legends say, 
On their shoulders held the sky. 



WEARINESS. 

O little feet ! that such long years 
Must wander on through hopes and 
fears, 
Must ache and bleed beneath your 
load ; 
I, nearer to the wayside inn 
Where toil shall cease and rest begin, 
Am weary, thinking of your road ! 

O little hands ! that, weak or strong, 
Have still to serve or rule so long, 

Have still so long to give or ask ; 
I, who so much with book and pen 
Have toiled among my fellow-men, 

Am weary, thinking of your task. 

O little hearts ! that throb and beat 
With such impatient, feverish heat, 

Such limitless and strong desires ; 
Mine that so long has glowed and 

burned, 
With passions into ashes turned 

Now covers and conceals its fires. 

O little souls ! as pure and white 
And crystalline as rays of light 

Direct from heaven, their source di- 
vine ; 
Refracted through the mist of years, 
How red my setting sun appears, 

How lurid looks this soul of mine I 



332 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE, ETC. 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE, 

AND OTHER POEMS. 
1866. 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE. 

Beautiful lily, dwelling by still riv- 
ers, 
Or solitary mere, 
Or where the sluggish meadow-brook 
delivers 
Its waters to the weir ! 

Thou laughest at the mill, the whir and 
worry 
Of spindle and of loom. 
And the great wheel that toils amid the 
hurry 
And rushing of the flume. 

Born to the purple, born to joy and 
pleasance, 
Thou dost not toil nor spin, 
• But makest glad and radiant with thy 
presence 
The meadow and the lin. 

The wind blows, and uplifts thy droop- 
ing banner, 
And round thee throng and run 
The rushes, the green yeomen of thy 
manor, 
The outlaws of the sun. 

The burnished dragon-fly is thine at- 
tendant, 
And tilts against the field, 
And down the listed sunbeam rides 
resplendent 
With steel-blue mail and shield. 

Thou art the Iris, fair among the fairest, 
Who, armed with golden rod 

And winged with the celestial azure, 
bearest 
The message of some God. 

Thou art the Muse, who far from crowd- 
ed cities 
Hauntest the sylvan streams, 
Playing on pipes of reed the artless 
ditties 
That come to us as dreams. 



O flower-de-luce, bloom on, and let the 
river 
Linger to kiss thy feet ! 
O flower of song, bloom on, and make 
forever 
The world more fair and sweet. 



PALINGENESIS. 

I lay upon the headland-height, and 

listened 
To the incessant sobbing of the sea 

In caverns under me, 
And watched "the waves, that tossed and 

fled and glistened, 
Until the rolling meadows of amethyst 
Melted away in mist. 

Then suddenly, as one from sleep, I 

started ; 
For round about me all the sunny capes 

Seemed peopled with the shapes 
Of those whom I had known in days 

departed, 
Apparelled in the loveliness which 
gleams 
On faces seen in dreams. 

A moment only, and the light and 

glory 
Faded away, and the disconsolate shore 

Stood lonely as before ; 
And the wild-roses of the promontory 
Around me shuddered in the wind, and 
shed 
Their petals of pale red. 

There was an old belief that in the 

embers 
Of all things their primordial form 

exists, 
And cunning alchemists 
Could re-create the rose with all its 

members 
From its own ashes, but without the 

bloom, 
Without the lost perfume. 



THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD. 



222 



Ah me ! what wonder-working, occult 

science 
Can from the ashes in our hearts once 
more 
The rose of youth restore ? 
What craft of alchemy can bid defiance 
To time and change, and for a single 
hour 
Renew this phantom-flower I 

"0, give me back," I cried, "the van- 
ished splendors, 
The breath of morn, and the exultant 
strife, 
~rt~hen the swift stream of life 
Bounds o'er its rocky channel, and sur- 
renders 
The pond, with all its lilies, for the leap 
Into the unknown de 

And the sea answered, with a lamenta- 
tion, 
Like some old prophet wailing, and it 
said, 
u Alas ! thy youth is dead '. 
It breathes no more, its heart has no 

pulsation ; 
In the dark places with the dead of old 
It lie; ar cold I 

Then said I. " From its consecrated 

cerements 
I will not drag this sacred dust again, 

Only to give me pain ; 
But, still remembering all the lost 

endearments, 
Go on nr like one who looks 

be:*: re. 
i turns to weep no more," 

Into what land of harvests, what plan- 
tations 

Bright with autumnal foliage and the 
glow 
Of sunsets burning low ; 

Beneath what midnight skies, whose 
con 

Light up the spacious avenues be- 
tween 
This world and the ur :::e: 

Amid what friendly g : ; 

at households, though not alien. 

not mine, 
What bowers of rest divine ; 



7: -:':.-=.; :err. -:=::■--= ir, ".re -: aer- 

r. e "- "- e -= . 
What famine of the heart, what pain 

The 'leir.ii- ::' -.-. j-.-.: ;r:~ 

I do not know ; nor will I vainly ques- 
tion 
Those pages of the mvstic book which 
hold 
The story still untold, 
But without rash conjecture or sug- 

re;:::r. 
Torn its last leaves in r everence and 
good heed, 
Until • The End " I read. 






THE BRIDGE OF CLOUD. 

Bvrx, O evening hearth, and waken 
Pleasant visions, as of old ! 

T'.:: aaa :ar a :a;e :; • - :r. i- :e Eaakea. 
a::r I y.izz :nas r: :. 

A a :: : '. :r. rer v :zara Far. :y 
Builds her castles in the air, 

Larir a aa = :y r.e:r:~ia:v 

Va :.: : :::-t::::z 

But. instead, she builds me bridges 

Over many a dark ravine, 
Where beneath the gusty rid : 

Cataracts dash and roar unseen. 

And I cross them, little heeding 
Blast of wind or torrent's roar, 

As I :":Fow :he receding 

7 aotsteps that have gone before. 

Naught avails the imploring gesture, 
N aught avails the cry of pain ! 

When I touch the are, 

J T is the gray robe of the rain. 

Baffled I return, and, leaning 

L "er :a.e aara e:; ::" : : a a. 
Watch the mist that intervening 
raps the valley in its shroud. 

And the sounds of life ascending 
Faintly, vaguely, meet the ear, 

Murmur of bells and voices blending 
With the rush of waters near. 

Well I know what there lies hidden, 
Every tower and town and farm, 

.-aa :. : a:, a :ae aaa :':r: aaea 
Reassumes i*s vanished charm. 



334 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE, ETC. 



Well I know the secret places, 
And the nests in hedge and tree ; 

At what doors are friendly faces, 
In what hearts are thoughts of me. 

Through the mist and darkness sinking, 
Blown by wind and beaten by shower, 

Down I fling the thought I 'm thinking, 
Down I toss this Alpine flower. 



HAWTHORNE. 

MAY 23, 1864. 

How beautiful it was, that one bright 
day 
In the long week of rain ! 
Though all its splendor could not chase 
away 
The omnipresent pain. 

The lovely town was white with apple- 
blooms, 
And the great elms o'erhead 
Dark shadows wove on their aerial 
looms, 
Shot through with golden thread. 

Across the meadows, by the gray old 
manse, 

The historic river flowed : 
I was as one who wanders in a trance, 

Unconscious of his road. 

The faces of familiar friends seemed 
strange : 
Their voices I could hear, 
And yet the words they uttered seemed 
to change 
Their meaning to my ear. 

For the one face I looked for was not 
there, 

The one low voice was mute ; 
Only an unseen presence filled the air, 

And baffled my pursuit. 

Now I look back, and meadow, manse, 
and stream 

Dimly my thought defines ; 
I only see — a dream within a dream — 

The hill-top hearsed with pines. 

I only hear above his place of rest 

Their tender undertone, 
The infinite longings of a troubled 
breast, 

The voice so like his own. 



There in seclusion and remote from men 

The wizard hand lies cold. 
Which at its topmost speed let fall the 
pen, 

And left the tale half told. 

Ah ! who shall lift that wand of magic 
i:o wer, 
And the lost clew regain ? 
The unfinished window in Aladdin's 
tower 
Unfinished must remain ! 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

I heard the bells on Christmas Day 
Their old, familiar carols play, 

And wild and sweet 

The words repeat 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men 1 

And thought how, as the day had come, 
The belfries of all Christendom 

Had rolled along 

The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good- will to men I 

Till, ringing, singing on its way, 

The world revolved from night to day, 

A voice, a chime, 

A chant sublime 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 

Then from each black, accursed mouth 
The cannon thundered in the South, 

And with the sound 

The carols drowned 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 

It was as if an earthquake rent 
The hearth-stones of a continent. 

And made forlorn 

The households born 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men I 

And in despair I bowed my head ; 
"There is no peace on earth," 1 said ; 

" For hate is strong, 

And mocks the song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! " 

Then pealed the bells more loud and 

deep : 
" God is not dead ; nor doth he sleep ! 

The Wrong shall fail, 

The Right prevail, 
With peace onearth. good- will to men 1 







K A MB ALU. 



335 



KAMBALU. 



Into the city of Kambalu, 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan, 
At the head of his dusty caravan, 
Laden with treasure from realms afar, 
Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar, 
Rode the great captain Alau. 

The Khan from his palace-window 

gazed, 
And saw in the thronging street be- 
neath, 
In the light of the setting sun, that 

blazed, 
Through the clouds of dust by the 

caravan raised, 
The flash of harness and jewelled 

sheath, 
And the shining scymitars of the guard, 
And the weary camels that bared their 

teeth, 
As they passed and passed through the 

gates unbarred 
Into the shade of the palace-yard. 

Thus into the city of Kambalu 

Rode the great captain Alau ; 

And he stood before the Khan, and 
said : 

" The enemies of my lord are dead ; 

All the Kalifs of all the West 

Bow and obey thy least behest ; 

The plains are dark with the mulberry- 
trees, 

The weavers are busy in Samarcand, 

The miners are sifting the golden 
sand, 

The divers plunging for pearls in the 
seas, 

And peace and plenty are in the land. 

" Baldacca's Kalif, and he alone 
Rose in revolt against thy throne : 
His treasures are at thy palace-door, 
With the swords and the shawls and 

the jewels he wore ; 
His body is dust o'er the desert blown. 

" A mile outside of Baldacca's gate 
I left my forces to lie in wait, 
Concealed by forests and hillocks of 

sand, 
And forward dashed with a handful of 

men 
To lure the old tiger from his dea 



Into the ambush I had planned. 

Ere we reached the town the alarm was 
spread, 

For we heard the sound of gongs from 
within ; 

And with clash of cymbals and warlike 
din 

The gates swung wide ; and we turned 
and fled, 

And the garrison sallied forth and pur- 
sued, 

With the gray old Kalif at their 
head, 

And above them the banner of Mo- 
hammed : 

So we snared them all, and the town 
was subdued. 

"As in at the gate we rode, behold, 

A tower that was called the Tower of 
Gold ! 

For there the Kalif had hidden his 
wealth, 

Heaped and hoarded and piled on high, 

Like sacks of wheat in a granary ; 

And thither the miser crept by stealth 

To feel of the gold that gave him 
health, 

And to gaze and gloat with his hungry 
eye 

On jewels that gleamed like a glow- 
worm's spark, 

Or the eyes of a panther in the dark. 

" I said to the Kalif: ' Thou art old, 
Thou hast no need of so much gold. 
Thou shouldst not have heaped and 

hidden it here, 
Till the breath of battle was hot and 

near, 
But have sown through the land these 

useless hoards 
To spring into shining blades of swords, 
And keep thine honor sweet and clear. 
These grains of gold are not grains of 

wheat ; 
These bars of silver thou canst not 

eat ; 
These jewels and pearls and precious 

stones 
Cannot cure the aches in thy bones, 
Nor keep the feet of Death one hour 
From climbing the stairways of thy 

tower I ' 



336 



FL O U 'ER-DE-L UCE, E TC. 



" Then into his dungeon I locked the 
drone, 
': left him to feed there all alone 
In the honey-cells of his golden hive : 
Never a prayer nor a cry nor a groan 
Was heard from those massive walls of 

stone, 
Nor again was the Kalif seen alive ! 

M When at last we unlocked the door, 
We found him dead upon the floor : 
The rings had dropped from his withered 

hands. 
His teeth were like bones in the desert 

sands ; 
Still clutching his treasure he had 

died ; 
And as he lay there, he appeared 
A statue of gold with a silver beard. 
His arms outstretched as if crucified." 

This is the story, strange and true, 
That the great captain Alau 
Told to his brother the Tartar Khan, 
When he rode that day iuto Kambalu 
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan. 



THE WIND OVER THE 
CHIMNEY. 

See, the fire is sinking low, 
Dusky red the embers el 

While above them still I cower, 
While a moment more I linger, 
Though the clock, with lifted finger, 

Points beyond the midnight hour. 

Sings the blackened log a tune 
Learned in some forgotten June 

From a school-boy at his play. 
When they both were young together, 
Heart of youth and summer weather 

Making all their holida 

And the night-wind rising, hark ! 
How above there in the dark. 

In the midnight and the snow, 
Ever wilder, fiercer, grander, 
"Like the trumpets of Iskander, 

All the noisy chimneys blow ! 

Every quivering tongue of flame 
Seems to murmur some great name, 

Seems to say to me, "Aspire ! " 
But the night-wind answers, " Hollow 
Are the visions that you follow. 

Into darkness sinks your fire '. " 



Then the flicker of the blaze 
Gleams on volumes of old days, 

Written by masters of the art, 
Loud through whose majestic pages 
Rolls the melody ofag 

Throb the harp-strings of the heart. 

And again the tongues of flame 
rt exulting and exclaim : 

"These are prophets, bards, and seers; 
In the horoscope of nations, 
Like ascendant constellatio: 

They control the coming years." 

But the night-wind cries : " Despair! 
Those who walk with feet of air 

Leave no long-enduring marks ; 
At God's forges incandescent 

ny hammers beat incessant, 

These are but the flying sparks. 

"Dust are all the hands that wrought ; 
Books are sepulchres of thought ; 

The dead laurels of the dead 
Rustle for a moment only. 
Like the withered leaves in lorn 

Churchyards at some passing tread." 

Suddenly the flame sinks down ; 
Sink the rumors of renown : 

And alone the night-wind drear 
Clamors louder, wilder, vaguer, — 
'• ' r is the brand of Meleager 

Dying on the hearth-stone here 

And I answer, — " Though it be, 
Why should that discomfort me ? 
endeavor is in vain ; 
reward is in the doing 
And the rapture of pursuing 

Is the prize the vanquished gain." 



THE BELLS OF LYNN. 

HEARD AT NAHANT. 



O curfew of the setting sun ! O Pells 

of Lynn ! 
O requiem oi the dying day 1 O Bells 

of Lynn ! 

From the dark belfries of yon cloud- 
cathedral wafted, 

Your sounds aerial seem to float, O 
Bells of Lynn ! 



; 



GIOTTO'S TOIVER. 



337 



Borne on the evening wind across the 

crimson twilight, 
O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O 

Bells of Lynn ! 

The fisherman in his boat, far out be- 
yond the headland, 

Listens, aud leisurely rows ashore, O 
Bells of Lynn ! 

Over the shining sands the wandering 
cattle homeward 

each other at your call, O Bells 
of Lynn ! 

The distant light-house hears, and with 

his flaming signal 
Answers you, passing the watchword 

on, O Bells of Lynn ! 

And down the darkening coast, run the 

tumultuous surg- 
And clap their hands, and shout to 

you, O Beils of Lynn ! 

Till from the shuddering sea, with your 

wild incantations, 
Ye summon up the spectral moon, O 

Bells of Lynn ! 

And startled at the sight, like the weird 

woman of Endor, 
Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O 

Bells of Lvnn ! 



KILLED AT THE FORD. 

He is dead, the beautiful youth, 
The heart of honor, the tongue of truth, 
He. the life and light of us all, 
Whose voice was blithe as a bugle- 
call. 
Whom all eyesfollowed with oneconsent. 
The cheer of whose laugh, and whose 

pleasant word, 
Hushed ail murmurs of discontent. 

Only last night, as we rode along 
Down the dark of the mountain gap, 
To visit the picket-guard at the ford, 
Little dreaming of any mishap, 
He was humming the words of some 

old song : 
" Two red roses he had on his cap 
And another he bore at the point of his 
ord." 

22 



Sudden and swift a whistling ball 
Came cut of a wood, and the voice was 

still; 
Something I heard in the darkness fall,- 
And for a moment my blood grew chill ; 
I spake in a whisper, as he who speaks 
In a room where some one is lying 

dead ; 
But he made no answer to what I said. 

We lifted him up to his saddle again, 
And through the mire and the mist and 

the rain 
Carried him back to the silent camp, 
i laid him as if asleep on his bed ; 
And I saw by the light of the surgeon's 

lamp 
Two white roses upon his cheek?. 
And one, just over his heart, blood-red ! 

And I saw in a vision how far and f.eet 
That fatal bullet went speeding forth, 
Till it reached a town in the distant 

North, 
Till it reached a house in a sunny 

ret. 
Till it reached a heart that ceased to 

be 
hout a murmur, without a cr 
And a bell was tolled in that far-off 

town, 
For one who had passed from cross to 

crown, 
And the neighbors wondered that she 

si\:ui:l ci.e. 



GIOTTO'S TOWER. 

How many lives, made beautiful and 
sweet 
By self-devotion and by self-re- 
straint, 
Whose pleasure is to run without 

complaint 
On unknown errands of the Paraclete, 
Wanting the reverence of unshodden 

Fail of the nimbus which thr: art:s:s 
paint 

Around the shining forehead of the 
saint, 

And are in their completeness in- 
complete 



338 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE, ETC. 



In the old Tuscan town stands Giotto's 

tower, 
The lily of Florence blossoming in 

stone, — 
A vision, a delight, and a desire, — 
The builder's perfect and centennial 

flower, 
That in the night of ages bloomed 

alone, 
But wanting still the glory of the 

spire. 

TO-MORROW. 

'T is late at night, and in the realm of 
sleep 

My little lambs are folded like the 
flocks ; 

From room to room I hear the wake- 
ful clocks 

Challenge the passing hour, like 
guards that keep 
Their solitary watch on tower and steep ; 

Far off I hear the crowing of the cocks, 

And through the opening door that 
time unlocks 

Feel the fresh breathing of To-mor- 
row creep. 
To-morrow ! the mysterious, unknown 
guest, 

Who cries to me : " Remember Bar- 
mecide, 

And tremble to be happy with the 
rest." 
And I make answer : " I am satisfied ; 

I dare not ask ; I know not what is 
best ; 

God hath already said what shall 
betide." 



DIVINA COMMEDIA. 



Oft have I seen at some cathedral door 
A laborer, pausing in the dust and 

heat, 
Lay down his burden, and with rev- 
erent feet 
Enter, and cross himself, and on the 
floor 
Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er ; 
Far off the noises of the world retreat; 
The loud vociferations of the street 
Become an undistinguishable roar. 



So, as I enter here from day to day, 
And leave my burden at this minster 

gate, 
Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed 
to pray, 
The tumult of the time disconsolate 
To inarticulate murmurs dies away, 
While the eternal ages watch and wait. 

ii. 

How strange the sculptures that adorn 

these towers ! 
This crowd of statues, in whose folded 

sleeves 
Birds build their nests ; while cano- 
pied with leaves 
Parvis and portal bloom like trellised 

bowers, 
And the vast minster seems a cross of 

flowers ! 
But fiends and dragons on the gar- 

goyled eaves 
Watch the dead Christ between the 

living thieves, 
And, underneath, the traitor Judas 

lowers ! 
Ah ! from what agonies of heart and 

brain, 
What exultations trampling on de- 
spair, 
What tenderness, what tears, what 

hate of wrong, 
What passionate outcry of a soul in 

pain, 
Uprose this poem of the earth and 

air, 
This mediaeval miracle of song ! 

| 

in. 

I enter, and I see thee in the gloom 
Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine! 
And strive to make my steps keep 

pace with thine. 
The air is filled with some unknown 

perfume ; 
The congregation of the dead make 

room 
For thee to pass ; the votive tapers 

shine ; 
Like rooks that haunt Ravenna's 

groves of pine 
The hovering echoes fly from tomb to 

tomb. 









NOEL 



339 



From the confessionals I hear arise 
Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies, 
And lamentations from the crypts 
below ; 
And then a voice celestial, that begins 
With the pathetic words, "Although 

your sins 
As scarlet be," and ends with "as 
the snow." 

iv. 

I lift mine eyes, and all the windows 
blaze 

With forms of saints and holy men 
who died, 

Here martyred and hereafter glori- 
fied ; 

And the great Rose upon its leaves 
displays 
Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roun- 
delays, 

With splendor upon splendor mul- 
tiplied ; 

And Beatrice again at Dante's side 

No more rebukes, but smiles her 
words of praise. 
And then the organ sounds, and un- 
seen choirs 

Sing the old Latin hymns of peace 
and love, 

And benedictions of the Holy Ghost ; 
And the melodious bells among the 
spires 

O'er all the house-tops and through 
heaven above 

Proclaim the elevation of the Host ! 

v. 

O star of morning and of liberty ! 

O bringer of the light, whose splen- 
dor shines 

Above the darkness of the Apen- 
nines, 

Forerunner of the day that is to be ! 
The voices of the city and the sea, 

The voices of the mountains and 
the pines, 

Repeat thy song, till the familiar 
lines 

Are footpaths for the thought of 
Italy ! 
Thy fame is blown abroad from all the 
heights, 



Through all the nations, and a sound 
is heard, 

As of a mighty wind, and men devout, 
Strangers of Rome, and the new prose- 
lytes, 

In their own language hear thy 
wondrous word, 

And many are amazed and many 
doubt. 



NOEL. 



ENVOYE A M. AGASSIZ, LA VEILLE DE 
NOEL 1864, AVEC UN PANIER DE VINS 
DIVERS. 

L'Academie en respect, 
Nonobstant l'incorrection, 
A la faveur du sujet, 

Ture-lure, 
N'y fera point de rature; 
Noel! ture-lure-lure. 

Gui-Barozai. 

Quand les astres de Noel 
Brillaient, palpitaient au ciel, 
Six gaillards, et chacun ivre, 
Chantaient gaiment dans le givre, 

" Bons amis 
Allons done chez Agassiz ! " 

Ces illustres Pelerins 
D'Outre-Mer adroits et fins, 
Se donnant des airs de pretre, 
A l'envi se vantaient d'etre 

" Bons amis 
De Jean Rudolphe Agassiz ! " 

OEil-de-Perdrix, grand farceur, 
Sans reproche et sans pudeur, 
Dans son patois de Bourgogne, 
Bredouillait comme un ivrogne, 

" Bons amis, 
J'ai danse chez Agassiz ! " 

Verzenay le Champenois, 
Bon Fran^ais, point New-Yorquois, 
Mais des environs d'Avize, 
Fredonne a mainte reprise, 

" Bons amis, 
J'ai chante chez Agassiz ! " 

A cote march ait un vieux 
Hidalgo, mais non mousseux ; 
Dans le temps de Charlemagne 
Fut son pere Grand d'Espagne ! 

" Bons amis 
J'ai dine chez Agassiz ! " 



340 



FLOWER-DE-LUCE, ETC. 



Derriere eux un Bordelais, 
Gascon, s'il en fut jamais, 
Parfume de poesie 
Riait, chantait, plein de vie, 

" Bons amis, 
J'ai soupe chez Agassiz ! " 

Avec ce beau cadet roux, 
Bras dessus et bras dessous, 
Mine altiere et couleur terne, 
Vint le Sire de Sauterne ; 

" Bons amis, 
J'ai chouche chez Agassiz ! " 

Mais le dernier de ces preux, 
Etait un pauvre Chartreux, 
Qui disait, d'un ton robuste, 
11 Benedictions sur le Juste ! 

Bons amis 
B^nissons Pere Agassiz ! " 



lis arrivent trois a trois, 
Montent l'escalier de bois 
Clopin-clopant ! quel gendarme 
Peut permettre ce vacarme, 

Bons amis, 
A la porte d'Agassiz ! 

"Ouvrez done, mon bon Seigneur, 
Ouvrez vite et n'ayez peur; 
Ouvrez, ouvrez, car nous sommes 
Gens de bien et gentilshommes, 

Bons amis 
De la famille Agassiz ! " 

Chut, ganaches ! taisez-vous ! 
C'en est trop de vos glouglous ; 
Epargnez aux Philosophes 
Vos abominables strophes ! 

Bons amis, 
Respectez mon Agassiz 1 







NOTES. 



Page ii. Coplas de Manrique. 

This poem of Manrique is a great 
favorite in Spain. No less than four 
poetic Glosses, or running commenta- 
ries, upon it have been published, no 
one of which, however, possesses great 
poetic merit. That of the Carthusian 
monk, Rodrigo de Valdepenas, is the 
best. It is known as the Glosa del 
Cartujo. There is also a prose Com- 
mentary by Luis de Aranda. 

The following stanzas of the poem 
were found in the author's pocket, after 
his death on the field of battle. 

"O World ! so few the years we live, 
Would that the life which thou dost 

give 
Were life indeed ! 
Alas ! thy sorrows fall so fast, 
Our happiest h6ur is when at last 
The soul is freed. 

" Our days are covered o'er with grief, 
And sorrows neither few nor brief 
Veil all in gloom ; 
Left desolate of real good, 
Within this cheerless solitude 
No pleasures bloom. 

"Thy pilgrimage begins in tears, 
And ends in bitter doubts and fears, 
Or dark despair ; 
Midway so many toils appear, 
That he who lingers longest here 
Knows most of care. 

" Thy goods are bought with many a 
groan, 
By the hot sweat of toil alone, 



And weary hearts ; 
Fleet-footed is the approach of woe, 
But with a lingering step and slow 
Its form departs." 

Page 22. My grave ! 

Nils Juel was a celebrated Danish 
Admiral, and Peder Wessel, a Vice- 
Admiral, who for his great prowess 
received the popular title of Torden- 
skiold, or Thunder-shield. In child- 
hood he was a tailor's apprentice, and 
rose to his high rank before the age of 
twenty-eight, when he was killed in a 
duel. 

Page 26. The Skeleton in A rmor. 

This Ballad was suggested to me 
while riding on the sea-shore at New- 
port. A year or two previous a skele- 
ton had been dug up at Fail River, clad 
in broken and corroded armor ; and 
the idea occurred to me of connecting 
it with the Round Tower at Newport, 
generally known hitherto as the Old 
Windmill, though now claimed by the 
Danes as a work of their early ancestors. 
Professor Rafn, in the Memoires de la 
Societe Roy ale des Antiquaires du 
Nord, for 1838- 1839, says : — 

" There is no mistaking in this in- 
stance the style in which the more an- 
cient stone edifices of the North were 
constructed, — the style which belongs 
to the Roman or Ante-Gothic archi- 
tecture, and which, especially after the 
time of Charlemagne, diffused itself from 
Italy over the whole of the West and 
North of Europe, where it continued 



342 



NOTES. 



to predominate until the close of the 
twelfth century, — that style which 
some authors have, from one of its 
most striking characteristics, called the 
round arch style, the same which in 
England is denominated Saxon and 
sometimes Norman architecture. 

" On the ancient structure in New- 
port there are no ornaments remaining, 
which might possibly have served to 
guide us in assigning the probable date 
of its erection. That no vestige what- 
ever is found of the pointed arch, nor 
any approximation to it, is indicative 
of an earlier rather than of a later 
period. From such characteristics as 
remain, however, we can scarcely form 
any other inference than one, in which 
I am persuaded that all who are famil- 
iar with Old- Northern architecture will 
concur, that this building was 

ERECTED AT A PERIOD DECIDEDLY NOT 
LATER THAN THE TWELFTH CENTURY. 

This remark applies, of course, to the 
original building only, and not to the 
alterations thatit subsequently received ; 
for there are several such alterations in 
the upper part of the building which 
cannot be mistaken, and which were 
most likely occasioned by its being 
adapted in modern times to various uses ; 
for example, as the substructure of a 
windmill, and latterly as a hay maga- 
zine. To the same times may be re- 
ferred the windows, the fireplace, and 
the apertures made above the columns. 
That this building could not have been 
erected for a windmill, is what an archi- 
tect will easily discern." 

I will not enter into a discussion of 
the point. It is sufficiently well estab- 
lished for the purpose of a ballad ; 
though doubtless many a citizen of 
Newport, who has passed his days 
within sight of the Round Tower, will 
be ready to exclaim, with Sancho : 
" God bless me ! did I not warn you 
to have a care of what you were doing, 
for that it was nothing but a windmill ; 
and nobody could mistake it, but one 
who had the like in his head." 

Page 28. Skoal ! 

In Scandinavia, this is the customary 



salutation when drinking a health. I 
have slightly changed the orthography 
of the word, in order to preserve the 
correct pronunciation. 

Page 29. The Luck of Edenhall. 

The tradition upon which this ballad 
is founded, and the "shards of the Luck 
of Edenhall," still exist in England. 
The goblet is in the possession of Sir 
Christopher Musgrave, Bart., of Eden 
Hall, Cumberland ; and is not so en- 
tirely shattered as the ballad leaves it. 

Page 29. The Elected K?iight. 

This strange and somewhat mystical 
ballad is from Nyerup and Rahbek's 
Danske Viscr of the Middle Ages. It 
seems to refer to the first preaching of 
Christianity in the North, and to the 
institution of Knight- Erran try. The 
three maidens I suppose to be Faith, 
Hope, and Charity. The irregularities 
of the original have been carefully pre- 
served in the translation. 

Page 46. As Lope says. 

" La colera 
de un Espanol sentado no se templa, 
sino le representan en dos horas 
hasta el final juicio desde el Genesis." 

Lope de Vega. 

Page 47. Abernuncio Satanas. 

" Digo, Senpra, respondio Sancho, 
lo que tengo dicho, que de los azotes 
abernuncio. Abrenuncio, habeis de 
decir, Sancho, y no como decis, dijo 
el Duque." — Don Quixote, Part II. 
ch. 35- 
Page 52. Fray Carrillo. 

The allusion here is to a Spanish 
Epigram. 

" Siempre Fray Carrillo estas 
cansandonos aca fuera ; » 
quien en tu celda estuviera 
para no verte jamas ! " 
B'dhl deFaber. Eloresta, No. 611. 

Page 52. Padre Francisco. 

This is from an Italian popular song. 

" ' Padre Francesco, 
Padre Francesco ! ' 



i 



NOTES. 



343 



— Cosavolete del Padre Francesco?' — 

' V e una bella ragazzina 
Che si vuole confessar ! ' 
Fatte 1' entrare, fatte 1' entrare I 
Che la voglio confessare." 

Kopisch. Volksthumliche Poesien 
aus alien Mundarten Italiens 
und seiner Inseln, p. 194. 

Page 53- ^ ve • cujus calcem dare. 

From a monkish hymn of the twelfth 
century, in Sir Alexander Croke's Es- 
say on the Origin, Progress, and De- 
cline of Rhyming Latin Verse, p. log. 

Page 56. The gold of the Busne. 

Busne is the name given by the Gyp- 
sies to all who are not of their race. 

Page 56. Count of the Cales. 

The Gypsies call themselves Cales. 
See Borrow's valuable and extremely 
interesting work, The Zincali ; or an 
Account of the Gypsies in Spain. Lon- 
don, 1 84 1. 

Page 58. Asks if his money-bags 
would rise. 

"i Y volviendome a un lado y vi a un 
Avariento, que estaba preguntando a 
otro, (que por haber sido embalsamado, 
y estar lexos sus tripas no hablaba, por- 
que no habian llegado si habian de re- 
sucitar aquel dia todos los enterrados) 
si resucitarian unos bolsones suyos ? " 

— El Sueno de las Calaveras. 

Page 58. And amen ! said my Cid 
the Campeador. 

A line from the ancient Poema del 
Cid. 

" Amen,dixo Mio Cid el Campeador." 

Line 3044. 

Page 5 8. The river of his thoughts. 

This expression is from Dante ; 

" Si che chiaro 
Per essa scenda della mente il fiume." 

Byron has likewise used the expres- 
sion ; though I do not recollect in which 
of his poems. 

Page 59. Mari Franca. 

A common Spanish proverb, used to 



turn aside a question one does not wish 
to answer ; 

" Porque caso Mari Franca 
quatro leguas de Salamanca." 

Page 59. Ay, soft, emerald eyes. 

The Spaniards, with good reason, 
consider this color of the eye as beau- 
tiful, and celebrate it in song ; as, for 
example, in the well-known Villancico : 

" Ay ojuelos verdes, 
ay los mis ojuelos, 
ay hagan los. cielos 
que de mi te acuerdes ! 

Tengo confianza 
de mis verdes ojos." 
B'ohl de Faber. Fioresta, No. 255. 

Dante speaks of Beatrice's eyes as 
emeralds. Purgatorio, xxxi. 116. La- 
mi says, in his Annotazioni, " Erano 
i suoi occhi d' un turchino verdiccio, 
simile a quel del mare." 

Page 60. The Avenging Child. 

See the ancient Ballads of El Infante 
Vengador, and Calaynos. 

Page 60. A II are sleeping. 

From the Spanish. B'ohl de Faber. 
Fioresta, No. 282. 

Page 66. Good night. 

From the Spanish ; as are likewise 
the songs immediately following, and 
that which commences the first scene 
of Act III. 

Page 73. The evil eye> 

" In the Gitano language, casting the 
evil eye is called Querelar nasula, 
which simply means making sick, and 
which, according to the common su- 
perstition, is accomplished by casting 
an evil look at people, especially chil- 
dren, who, from the tenderness of their 
constitution, are supposed to be more 
easily blighted than those of a more 
mature age. After receiving the evil 
glance, they fall sick, and die in a few 
hours. 

" The Spaniards have very little to 
say respecting the evil eye, though the 



344 



NOTES. 



belief in it is very prevalent, especially 
in Andalusia, amongst the lower or- 
ders. A stag's horn is considered a 
good safeguard, and on that account 
a small horn, tipped with silver, is fre- 
quently attached to the children's necks 
by means of a cord braided from the 
hair of a black mare's tail. Should 
the evil glance be cast, it is imag- 
ined that the horn receives it, and 
instantly snaps asunder. Such horns 
may be purchased in some of the sil- 
versmiths' shops at Seville." — Bor- 
row's Zincali, Vol. I. ch. ix. 

Page 73. On the top of a mountain 
I stand. 

This and the following scraps of song 
are from Dorrow's Zincali ; or an Ac- 
count of the Gypsies in Spain. 

The Gypsy words in the same scene 
may be thus interpreted : — 

John- Dorados, pieces of gold. 

Pigeon, a simpleton. 

In your morocco, stripped. 

Doves, sheets. 

Moon, a shirt. 

Chireliu, a thief. 

Murcigalleros, those who steal at 
nightfall. 

Rastilleros, footpads. 

Hermit, highway-robber. 

Planets, candles. 

Commandments, the fingers. 

Saint Martin asleep, to rob a person 
asleep. 

Lanterns, eyes. 

Goblin, police officer. 

Papagayo, a spy. 

Vineyards and Dancing John, to 
take flight. 

Page 78. If thou art sleeping, 
maiden. 

From the Spanish ; as is likewise the 
song of the Contrabandista on page 78. 

Page 81. All the Foresters of Flan- 
ders. 

The title of Foresters was given to the 
early governors of Flanders, appointed 
by the kings of France. Lyderick du 



Bucq,'in the days of Clotaire the Sec- 
ond, was the first of them ; and Beau- 
doin Bras-de-Fer, who stole away the 
fair Judith, daughter of Charles the 
Bald, from the French court, and mar- 
ried her in Bruges, was the last. After 
him the title of Forester was changed to 
that of Count. Philippe d' Alsace, Guy 
de Dampierre, and Louis de Crecy, 
coming later in the order of time, were 
therefore rather Counts than Foresters. 
Philippe went twice to the Holy Land 
as a Crusader, and died of the plague 
at St. Jean-d'Acre, shortly after the 
capture of the city by the Christians. 
Guy de Dampierre died in the prison 
of Compiegne. Louis de Crecy was son 
and successor of Robert de Bethune, 
who strangled his wife, Yolande de 
Bourgogne, with the bridle of his horse, 
for having poisoned, at the age of 
eleven years, Charles, his sou by his 
first wife, Blanche d'Anjou. 

Page 81. Stately dames, like queens 
attended. 

When Philippe-le-Bel, kingof France, 
visited Flanders with his queen, she 
was so astonished at the magnificence 
of the dames of Bruges, that she ex- 
claimed : " Je croyais etre seule reine 
ici, mais il parait que ceux de Flandre 
qui se trouvent dans nos prisons sont 
tons d^s princes, car leurs femmes sont 
habilldes comme des princesses et des. 
reines." 

When the burgomasters of Ghent, 
Bruges, and Ypres went to Paris to pay 
homage to King John, in 1351, they 
were received with great pomp and dis- 
tinction ; but, being invited to a festi- 
val, they observed that their seats at 
table were not furnished with cushions ; 
whereupon, to make known their dis- 
pleasure at this want of regard to their 
aignity, they folded their richly em- 
broidered cloaks and seated themselves 
upon them. On rising from table, they 
left their cloaks behind them, and, be- 
ing informed of their apparent forget- 
fulness, Simon van Eertrycke, bin 
master of Bruges, replied, " We Flem- 
ings are not in the habit of carryii.g 
away our cushions after dinner." 



NOTES. 



345 



Page 81. Knights who bore the 
Fleece of Gold. 

Philippe d<S Bourgogne, surnamed 
Le Bon, espoused Isabella of Portugal 
on the ioth of January, 1430 ; and on 
the same day instituted the famous 
order of the Fleece of Gold. 

Page 81. / beheld the gentle Mary. 

Marie de Valois, Duchess of Burgun- 
dy, was left by the death of her father, 
Charles-le-Temeraire, at the age of 
twenty, the richest heiress of Europe. 
She canie to Bruges, as Countess of 
Flanders, in 1477, and in the same year 
was married by proxy to the Archduke 
Maximilian. According to the cus- 
tom of the time, the Duke of Bavaria, 
Maximilian's substitute, slept with the 
princess. They were both in complete 
dress, separated by a naked sword, and 
attended by four armed guards. Marie 
was adored by her subjects for her gen- 
tleness and her many other virtues. 

Maximilian was son of the Em- 
peror Frederick the Third, and is the 
same person mentioned afterwards in 
the poem oi Nuremberg as the Kaiser 
Maximilian, and the hero of Pfinzing's 
poem of JTeuerdank. Having been 
imprisoned by the revolted burghers of 
Bruges, they refused to release him, 
till he consented to kneel in the public 
square, and to swear on the Holy Evan- 
gelists and the body of Saint Donatus, 
that he would not take vengeance upon 
them for their rebellion. 

Pa<re 81. The bloody battle of the 
Spurs of Gold. 

This battle, the most memorable in 
Flemish history, was fought under the 
walls of Courtray, on the nth of July, 
1302, between the French and the 
Flemings, the former commanded by 
Robert, Comte d'Artois, and the latter 
by Guillaume de Juliers, and Jean, 
Comte de Namur. The French army 
was completely routed, with a loss of 
twenty thousand infantry and seven 
thousand cavalry ; among whom were 
sixty-three princes, dukes, and counts, 
seven hundred lords-banneret, and 
eleven hundred noblemen. The flower 



of the French nobility perished on 
that day ; to which history has, given 
the name of the Joztrnee des Eperons 
d'Or, from the great number of golden 
spurs found on the field of battle. Sev- 
en hundred of them were hung up as a 
trophy in the church of Notre Dame de 
Courtray ; and, as the cavaliers of that 
day wore but a single spur each, these 
vouched to God for the violent and 
bloody death of seven hundred of his 
creatures. 



Page 81. 
water. 



Saw the fight at Minne- 



When the inhabitants of Bruges were 
digging a canal at Minnewater, to bring 
the waters of the Lys from Deynze to 
their city, they were attacked and routed 
by the citizens of Ghent, whose com- 
merce would have been much injured 
by the canal. They were led hy Jean 
Lyons, captain of a military company at 
Ghent, called the Chaperons Blancs. 
He had great sway over the turbu- 
lent populace, who, in those prosperous 
times of the city, gained an easy liveli- 
hood by laboring two or three days in 
the week, and had the remaining four or 
five to devote to public affairs. The 
fight at Minnewater was followed by 
open rebellion against Louis de Maele, 
the Count of Flanders and Protector of 
Bruges. His superb chateau of Won- 
delghem was pillaged and burnt ; and 
the insurgents forced the gates of 
Bruges, and entered in triumph, with 
Lyons mounted at their head. A few 
days afterwards he died suddenly, per- 
haps by poison. 

Meanwhile the insurgents received a 
check at the village of Nevele ; and 
two hundred of them perished in the 
church, which was burned by the 
Count's orders. One of the chiefs, 
Jean de Lannoy, took refuge in the 
belfry. From the summit of the tower 
he held forth his purse filled with gold, 
and begged for deliverance. It was in 
vain. His enemies cried to him from 
below to save himself as best he might ; 
and, half suffocated with smoke and 
flame, he threw himself from the tower 
and perished at their feet. Peace w r as 



34$ 



NOTES. 



soon afterwards established, and the 
Count retired to faithful Bruges. 

Page S i . The Golden Dragon's nest. 

The Golden Dragon, taken from the 
church of St. Sophia, at Constantinople, 
in one of the Crusades, and placed on 
the belfry of Bruges, was afterwards 
transported to Ghent by Philip van 
Artevelde, and stiil adorns the belfry of 
that city. 

The inscription on the alarm-bell at 
Ghent is, " Mynen naem is Roland; 
als ik klep is er brand, andals ikluy is 
er victorie in het land." My name is 
Roland ; when I toll there is fire, and 
when I ring there is victory in the land. 

Page 83. That their great imperial 
city stretched its hand through 
every clime. 

An old popular proverb of the town 
runs thus : — 

" Xiirnberg' 's Hand 
Geht durch alle Land." 

Nuremberg's hand 
Goes through every land. 

Page 83. Sat the poet Melchior 
singing Kaiser Maximilian 's 
praise. 

Melchior Pfinzing was one of the 
most celebrated German poets of the 
sixteenth century. The hero of his 
Teuerdank was the reigning emperor, 
Maximilian ; and the poem was to the 
Germans of that day what the Orlando 
Furioso was to the Italians. Maxi- 
milian is mentioned before, in the 
Belfry 0/ Bruges. See page 80. 

Page 83. hi the church of sainted 
Sebald sleeps enshrined his holy 
dust. 

The tomb of Saint Sebald, in the 
church which bears his name, is one of 
the richest works of art in Nuremberg. 
It is of bronze, and was cast by Peter 
Vischer and his sons, who labored 
upon it thirteen years. It is adorned 
with nearly one hundred figures, among 
which those of the Twelve Apostles 
are conspicuous for size and beauty. 



Page 83. In the church of sainted 
Lawrence stands a pix of sculpt- 
ure rare. 

This pix, or tabernacle for the ves- 
sels of the sacrament, is by the hand of 
Adam Kraft. It is an exquisite piece 
of sculpture in white stone, and rises to 
the height of sixty-four feet. It stands 
in the choir, whose richly painted win- 
dows cover it with varied colors. 

Page 84. Wisest of the Twelve Wise 
blasters. 

The Twelve Wise Masters was the 
title of the original corporation of the 
Mastersingers. Hans Sachs, the cob- 
bler of Nuremberg, though not one of 
the original Twelve, was the most re- 
nowned of the Mastersingers, as well 
as the most voluminous. He flour- 
ished in the sixteenth century; and 
left behind him thirty-four folio vol- 
umes of manuscript, containing two 
hundred and eight plays, one thousand 
and seven hundred comic tales, and 
between four and five thousand lyric 
poems. 

Page 84. As in Adam PuscJi- 
man 's song. 

Adam Puschman, in his poem on 
the death of ilans Sachs, describes 
him as he appeared in a vision : — 

"An old man, 
Gray and white, and dove-like, 
Who had, in sooth, a great beard, 
And read in a fair, great book, 
Beautiful with golden clasps." 

Page 88. The Occultation of Orion. 

Astronomically speaking, this title 
is incorrect ; as I apply to a constella- 
tion what can properly be applied to 
some of its stars only. But my obser- 
vation is made from the hill of song, 
and not from that of science ; and 
will, I trust, be found sufficiently ac- 
curate for the present purpose. 

Page 90. Who, -unharmed, on his 
tusks once caught the bolts of the 
thunder. 

"A delegation of warriors from the 
Delaware tribe having visited the gov- 



NOTES. 



347 



ernor of Virginia, during the Revolu- 
tion, on matters of business, after these 
had been discussed and settled in 
council, the governor asked them some 
questions relative to their country, and 
among others, what they knew or had 
heard of the animal whose bones were 
found at the Saltlicks on the Ohio. 
Their chief speaker immediately put 
himself into an attitude of oratory, and 
with a pomp suited to what he con- 
ceived the elevation of his subject, in- 
formed him that it was a tradition 
handed down from their fathers, ' that 
in ancient times a herd of these tre- 
mendous animals came to the Big- 
bone licks, and began an universal de- 
struction of the bear, deer, elks, buffa- 
loes, and other animals which had 
been created for the use of the In- 
dians : that the Great Man above, 
looking down and seeing this, was so 
enraged, that he seized his lightning, 
descended on the earth, seated himself 
on a neighboring mountain, on a rock of 
which his seat and the print of his feet 
are still to be seen, and hurled his 
bolts among them till the whole were 
slaughtered, except the big bull, who, 
presenting his forehead to the shafts, 
shook them off as they fell ; but miss- 
ing one at length, it wounded him in 
the side ; whereon, springing round, he 
bounded over the Ohio, over the Wa- 
bash, the Illinois, and finally over the 
great lakes, where he is living at this 
day.' " — Jefferson's Notes on Vir- 
ginia, Query VI. 



Page 92. 
we id. 



Walter von der Vogel- 



Walter von der Vogelweid, or Bird- 
Meadow, was one of the principal Min- 
nesingers of the thirteenth century. 
He triumphed over Heinrich von Of- 
terdingen in that poetic contest at 
Wartburg CastAe, known in literary 
history as the War of Wartburg. 

Page 95. Like imperial Charle- 
magne. 

Charlemagne may be called by pre- 
eminence the monarch of farmers. 
According to the German tradition, in 



seasons of great abundance, his spirit 
crosses the Rhine on a golden bridge 
at Bingen, and blesses the cornfields 
and the vineyards. During his life- 
time, he did not disdain, says Montes- 
quieu, "to sell the eggs from the farm- 
yards of his domains, and the superflu- 
ous vegetables of his gardens ; while 
he distributed among his people the 
wealth of the Lombards and the im- 
mense treasures of the Huns." 

Page 129. 

Behold, at last, 

Each tall and tapering mast 

Is swung into its place. 

I wish to anticipate a criticism on 
this passage, by stating, that sometimes 
though not usually, vessels are launched 
fully sparred and rigged. I have 
availed myself of the exception as better 
suited to my purposes than the general 
rule ; but the reader will see that it is 
neither a blunder nor a poetic license. 
On this subject a friend in Portland, 
Maine, writes me thus : — 

" In this State, and also, I am told, 
in New York, ships are sometimes 
rigged upon the stocks, in order to 
save time, or to make a show. There 
was a fine, large ship launched last 
summer at Ellsworth, fully sparred 
and rigged. Some years ago a ship 
was launched here, with her rigging, 
spars, sails, and cargo aboard. She 
sailed the next day and — was never 
heard of again ! I hope this will not 
be the fate of your poem ! " 

Page 131. Sir Humphrey Gilbert. 

" When the wind abated and the 
vessels were near enough, the Admiral 
was seen constantly sitting in the stern, 
with a book in his hand. On the 9th 
of September he was seen for the last 
time, and was heard by the people of 
the Hind to say, ' We are as near 
heaven by sea as by land.' In the fol- 
lowing night, the lights of the ship 
suddenly disappeared. The people in 
the other vessel kept a good lookout 
for him during the remainder of the 
voyage. On the 22d of September 
they arrived, through much tempest 



343 



NOTES. 



and peril, at Falmouth. But nothing 
more was seen or heard of the Admi- 
ral." — Belknap's A merican Biogra- 
phy, I. 203. 



Page 139. 
Cuille. 



The Blind Girl o/Castel- 



Jasmin, the author of this beautiful 
poem, is to the South of France what 
Burns is to the South of Scotland, — 
the representative of the heart of the 
people, — one of those happy bards 
who are born with their mouths full of 
birds {la bouco pleno d'aouzelous). He 
has written his own biography in a 
poetic form, and the simple narrative 
of his poverty, his struggles, and his 
triumphs is very touching. He still 
lives at Agen, on the Garonne ; and long 
may he live there to delight his native 
land with native songs ! 

The following description of his per- 
son and way of lite is taken from the 
graphic pages of " Beam and the Pyre- 
nees," by Louisa Stuart Costello, whose 
charming pen has done so much to illus- 
trate the French provinces and their 
literature. 

"At the entrance of the promenade, 
Du Gravier, is a row of small hou 
— some cafes, others shops, the indica- 
tion of which is a painted cloth placed 
across the way. with the owner's name 
in bright gold letters, in the manner of 
the arcades in the streets, and their an- 
nouncements. One of the most glaring 
of these was, we observed, a bright blue 
flag, bordered with gold ; on which, in 
large sold letters, appeared the name 
of 'Jasmin, Coiffeur.' We entered, 
and were welcomed by a smiling, dark- 
eyed woman, who informed us that her 
husband was busy at that moment dn 
ing a customer's hair, but he was de- 
sirous to receive us, and begged we 
would walk into his parlor at the back 
of the shop. 

" She exhibited to us a laurel crown 
of gold, of delicate workmanship, sent 
from the city of Clemence Isaure, Tou- 
louse, to the poet ; who will probably 
one day take his place in the cafiiioul. 
Next came a golden cup, with an in- 



scription in his honor, given by the cit- 
izens of Auch ; a gold watch, chain, and 
seals, sent by the king, Louis Philippe ; 
an emerald ring worn and presented by 
the lamented Duke of Orleans ; a pearl 
pin, bythegraceful Duchess, who, on the 
poet's visit to Paris accompanied by his 
soil, received him in the words he puts 
into the mouth of Henri Quatre : — 

.' Brabes Gaseous ! 
A moun amou per bous aou dibes creyre : 
Benes ! benes ! ey plaze de bous beyre : 
Aproucha bous ! ' 

A fine service of linen, the offering of 
the town of Pan, after its citizens had 
given fetes in his honor, and loaded 
him with caresses and praises; and. 
knickknacks and jewels of all de- 
scriptions offered to him by lady-am- 
bassadresses, and great lords ; English 
'misses' and 'miladis'; and French, 
and foreigners of all nations who did or 
did not understand Gascon. 

" All this, though startling, was not 
convincing; Jasmin, the barber, might 
only be a fashion, a/wwu, a caprice, 
after all ; and it was evident that he 
knew how to get up a scene well. 
When we had become nearly tired of 
looking over these tributes to his gen- 
ius, the door opened, and the poet 
himself appeared. His manner was 
free and unembarrassed, well-bred, and 
lively ; he received our compliments 
naturally, and like one accustomed to 
homage ; said he was ill, and unfortu- 
nately too hoarse to read anything to 
us, or should have been delighted to 
do so. He spoke with a broad Gascon 
accent, and very rapidly and eloquent- 
ly ; ran over the story of his successes ; 
told us that his grandfather had been a 
betrgar, and all his family very poor : 
that he was now as rich as he wished 
to be ; his son placed in a good posi- 
tion at Nantes; tlienflfehowed us his 
son's picture, and spoke of his disposi- 
tion; to which his brisk little wife added, 
that, though no fool, he had not his 
father's genius, to which truth Jasmin 
assented as ;i matter of course. I told 
him of having seen mention made of 
him in an English review; which he 




NOTES. 



349 



said had been sent him by Lord Dur- 
ham, who had paid him a visit ; and I 
then spoke of ' Me cal mouri ' as known 
to me. This was enough to make him 
forget his hoarseness and every other 
evil : it would never do for me to imag- 
ine that that little song was his best 
composition ; it was merely his first ; 
he must try to read to me a little of 
'L'Abuglo,' — a few verses of ' Fran- 
^ouneto.'- 'You will be charmed,' said 
he ; ' but if I were well, and you would 
give me the pleasure of your company 
for some time, if you were not merely 
running through Agen, I would kill you 
with weeping, — I would make you die 
with distress for my poor Margarido, — 
my pretty Franc^ouneto ! ' 

"He caught up two copies of his book, 
from a pile lying on the table, and mak- 
ing us sit close to him, he pointed out 
the French translation on one side, 
which he told us to follow while he read 
in Gascon. He began in a rich, soft 
voice, and as he advanced, the surprise 
of Hamlet on hearing the player-king 
recite the disasters of Hecuba was but 
a type of ours, to find ourselves carried 
away by the spell of his enthusiasm. 
His eyes swam in tears ; he became 
pale and red ; he trembled ; he recov- 
ered himself; his face was now joyous, 
now exulting, gay, jocose ; in fact, he 
was twenty actors in one ; he rang the 
changes from Rachel to Bouffe ; and 
he finished by delighting us, besides 
beguiling us of our tears, and over- 
whelming us with astonishment. 

" He would have been a treasure on 
the stage ; for he is still, though his 
first youth is past, remarkably good- 
looking and striking ; with black, spark- 
ling eyes, of intense expression ; a fine, 
rudd}'' complexion ; a countenance of 
wondrous mobility ; a good figure ; and 
action full of fire and grace ; he has 
handsome hands, which he uses with 
infinite effect ; and, on the whole, he is 
the best actor of the kind I ever saw. 
I could now quite understand what a 
troubadour or jongleur might be, and 
I look upon Jasmin as a revived speci- 
men of that extinct race. Such as he 
is might have been Gaucelm Faidit, of 



Avignon, the friend of Cceur de Lion, 
who lamented the death of the hero in 
such moving strains ; such might have 
been Bernard de Ventadour, who sang 
the praises of Queen Elinore's beauty ; 
such Geoffrey Rudel, of Blaye, on his 
own Garonne ; such the wild Vidal : 
certain it is, that none of these trouba- 
dours of old could more move, by their 
singing or reciting, than Jasmin, in 
whom all their long-smothered fire and 
traditional magic seems reillumined. 

"We found we had stayed hours in- 
stead of minutes with the poet ; but he 
would not hear of any apology, — only 
regretted that his voice was so out of 
tune, in consequence of a violent cold, 
under which he was really laboring, and 
hoped to see us again. He told us our 
countrywomen of Pau had laden him 
with kindness and attention, and spoke 
with such enthusiasm of the beauty of 
certain 'misses,' that I feared his little 
wife would feel somewhat piqued ; but, 
on the contrary, she stood by, smiling 
and happy, and enjoying the stories of 
his triumphs. I remarked that he had 
restored the poetry of the troubadours; 
asked him if he knew their songs ; and 
said he was worthy to stand at their 
head. ' I am, indeed, a troubadour,' 
said he, with energy ; ' but I am far 
beyond them all ; they were but begin- 
ners ; they never composed a poem like 
my Francouneto ! there are no poets in 
France now, — there cannot be; the 
language does not admit of it ; where 
is the fire, the spirit, the expression, the 
tenderness, the force of the Gascon? 
French is but the ladder to reach to the 
first floor of Gascon, — how can you get 
up to a height except by a ladder ! ' 

" I returned by Agen, after an absence 
in the Pyrenees of some months, and 
renewed my acquaintance with Jasmin 
and his dark-eyed wife. I did not ex- 
pect that I should he recognized ; but 
the moment I entered the little shop I 
was hailed as an old friend. ' Ah ! ' 
cried Jasmin, ' enfin la voila encore ! ' 
I could not but be flattered by this rec- 
ollection, but soon found it was less on 
my own account that I was thus wei- 



3 So 



NOTES. 



corned, than because a circumstance 
had occurred to the poet which he 
thought I could perhaps explain. He 
produced several French newspapers, 
in which he pointed out to me an arti- 
cle headed ' Jasmin a Londres ' ; being 
a translation of certain notices of him 
self, which had appeared in a leading 
English literary journal. He had, he 
said, been informed of the honor done 
him by numerous friends, and assured 
me his fame had been much spread by 
this means ; and he was so delighted 
on the occasion, that he had resolved 
to learn English, in order that he might 
judge of the translations from his works, 
which, he had been told, were well done. 
I enjoyed his surprise, while I informed 
him that I knew who was the reviewer 
and translator ; and explained the rea- 
son for the verses giving pleasure in an 
English dress to be the superior sim- 
plicity of the English language over 
Modern French, for which he has a 
great contempt, as unfitted for lyrical 
composition. He inquired of me re- 
specting Burns, to whom he had been 
likened ; and begged me to tell him 
something of Moore. The delight of 
himself and his wife was amusing, at 
having discovered a secret which had 
puzzled them so long. 

" He had a thousand things to tell 
me ; in particular, that he had only the 
day before received a letter from the 
Duchess of Orleans, informing him 
that she had ordered a medal of her 
late husband to be struck, the first of 
which would be sent to him : she also 
announced to him the agreeable news 
of the king having granted him a pen- 
sion of a thousand francs. He smiled 
and wept by turns, as he told us all 
this ; and declared, much as he was 
elated at the possession of a sum which 
made him a rich man for life, the kind- 
ness of the Duchess gratified him even 
more. 

" He then made us sit down while 
he read us two new poems ; both 
charming, and full of grace and naive- 
te ; and one very affecting, being an 
address to the king, alluding to the 
death of his son. As he read, his wife 



stood by, and fearing we did not quite 
comprehend his language, she made a 
remark to that effect : to which he an- 
swered impatiently, 'Nonsense, — don't 
you see they are in tears.' This was 
unanswerable ; and we were allowed 
to hear the poem to the end ; and I 
certainly never listened to anything 
more feelingly and energetically de- 
livered. 

" We had much conversation, for he 
was anxious to detain us, and, in the 
course of it, he told me he had been by 
some accused of vanity. ' O,' he re- 
joined, ' what would you have ! I am a 
child of nature, and cannot conceal my 
feelings ; the only difference between 
me and a man of refinement is, that he 
knows how to conceal his vanity and 
exultation at success, which I let every- 
body see.'" — Beam and the Pyr- 
enees, I. 369 et sea. 

Page 144. A Christmas Carol. 

The following description of Christ- 
mas in Burgundy is from M. Fertiault's 
Coup d'CEil snr les Noels en Bour- 
gogne, prefixed to the Paris edition of 
Les Noels Bourguignons de Bernard 
de la Monnoye {Gni Bardzai), 1842. 

" Every year at the approach of Ad- 
vent, people refresh their memories, 
clear their throats, and begin prelud- 
ing, in the long evenings by the fire- 
side, those carols whose invariable and 
eternal theme is the coming of the 
Messiah. They take from old closets 
pamphlets, little collections begrimed 
with dust and smoke, to which the 
press, and sometimes the pen, has con- 
signed these songs ; and as soon as 
the first Sunday of Advent sounds, they 
gossip, they gad about, they sit togeth- 
er by the fireside, sometimes at one 
house, sometimes at another, taking 
turns in paying for the chestnuts and 
white wine, but singing with one com- 
mon voice the grotesque praises of the 
Little Jesus. There are very few vil- 
lages even, which, during all the even- 
ings of Advent, do not hear some of 
these curious canticles shouted in their 
streets, to the nasal drone of bagpipes. 
In this case the minstrel comes as a 



NOTES. 



35* 



reinforcement to the singers at the fire- 
side ; he brings and adds his dose of 
joy (spontaneous or mercenary, it mat- 
ters little which) to the joy which 
breathes around the hearth-stone ; and 
when the voices vibrate and resound, 
one voice more is always welcome. 
There, it is not the purity of the notes 
which makes the concert, but the quan- 
tity, — non qualitas, sed quantitas ; 
then, (to finish at once with the min- 
strel,) when the Saviour has at length 
been born in the manger, and the 
beautiful Christmas Eve is passed, the 
rustic piper makes his round among 
the houses, where every one compli- 
ments and thanks him, and, moreover, 
gives him in small coin the price of the 
shrill notes with which he has enliv- 
ened the evening entertainments. 

" More or less until Christmas Eve, 
all goes on in this way among our 
devout singers, with the difference of 
some gallons of wine or some hundreds 
of chestnuts. But this famous eve 
once come, the scale is pitched upon a 
higher key ; the closing evening must 
be a memorable one. The toilet is 
begun at nightfall ; then comes the 
hour of supper, admonishing divers 
appetites ; and groups, as numerous as 
possible, are formed to take together 
this comfortable evening repast. The 
supper finished, a circle gathers around 
the hearth, which is arranged and set 
in order this evening after a particular 
fashion, and which at a later hour of 
the night is to become the object of 
special interest to the children. On 
the burning brands an enormous log 
has been placed. This log assuredly 
does not change its nature, but it 
changes its name during this evening : 
it is called the Suche (the Yule-log). 
' Look you,' say they to the children, 
'if you are good this evening, Noel' 
(for with children one must always per- 
sonify) ' will rain down sugar-plums in 
the night.' And the children sit de- 
murely, keeping as quiet as their tur- 
bulent little natures will permit. The 
groups of older persons, not always as 
orderly as the children, seize this good 
opportunity to surrender themselves 



with merry hearts and boisterous 
voices to the chanted worship of the 
miraculous Noel. For this final so- 
lemnity, they have J^ept the most 
powerful, the most enthusiastic, the 
most electrifying carols. Noel ! Noel ! 
Noel ! This magic word resounds on 
all sides ; it seasons every sauce, it is 
served up with every course. Of the 
thousands of canticles which are heard 
on this famous eve, ninety-nine in a 
hundred begin and end with this 
word ; which is, one may say, their 
Alpha and Omega, their crown and 
footstool. This last evening, the mer- 
ry-making is prolonged. Instead of 
retiring at ten or eleven o'clock, as is 
generally done on all the preceding 
evenings, they wait for the stroke of 
midnight : this word sufficiently pro- 
claims to what ceremony they are go- 
ing to repair. For ten minutes or a 
quarter of an hour, the bells have been 
calling the faithful with a triple-bob- 
major ; and each one, furnished with a 
little taper streaked with various colors, 
(the Christmas Candle,) goes through 
the crowded streets, where the lanterns 
are dancing like Will-o'-the- Wisps, at 
the impatient summons of the multi- 
tudinous chimes. It is the Midnight 
Mass. Once inside the church, they 
hear with more or less piety the Mass, 
emblematic of the coming of the Mes- 
siah. Then in tumult and great haste 
they return homeward, always in nu- 
merous groups ; they salute the Yule- 
log ; they pay homage to the hearth ; 
they sit down at table ; and, amid 
songs which reverberate louder than 
ever, make this meal of after-Christ- 
mas, so long looked for, so cherished, 
so joyous, so noisy, and which it has 
been thought fit to call, we hardly 
know why, Rossignon. The supper 
eaten at nightfall is no impediment, as 
you may imagine, to the appetite's 
returning ; above all, if the going to 
and from church has made the devout 
eaters feel some little shafts of the 
sharp and biting north-wind. Rossig- 
non then goes on merrily, — sometimes 
far into the morning hours ; but, never- 
theless, gradually throats grow hoarse, 



352 



NOTES. 



stomachs-are filled, the Yule-log burns 
out, and at last the hour arrives when 
each one, as best he may, regains his 
domicile and iis bed, and puts with 
himself between the sheets the mate- 
rial for a good sore-throat, or a good 
indigestion, for the morrow. Previous 
to this, care has been taken to place 
in the slippers, or wooden shoes of the 
children, the sugar-plums, which shall 
be for them, on their waking, the wel- 
come fruits of the Christmas log." 

In the Glossary, the Suche, or Yule- 
log, is thus defined : — 

"This is a huge log, which is placed 
on the fire on Christmas Eve, and 
which in Burgundy is called, on this 
account, lai Suche de Noei. Then the 
father of the family, particularly among 
the middle classes, sings solemnly 
Christmas carols with his wife and 
children, the smallest of whom he sends 
into the corner to pray that the Yule- 
log may bear him some sugar-plums. 
Meanwhile, little parcels of them are 
placed under each end of the log, and 
the children come and pick them up, 
believing, in good faith, that the great 
log has borne them." 

Page 145. The Golden Legend. 

The old Legenda A urea, or Gold- 
en Legend, was originally written in 
Latin, in the thirteenth century, by 
Jacobus de Voragine, a Dominican friar, 
who afterwards became Archbishop of 
Genoa, and died in 1292. 

Ke called his book simply " Legends 
of the Saints." The epithet of Golden 
was given it by his admirers ; for, as 
Wynkin de Worde says, " Like as pass- 
eth gold in value all other metals, so 
this Legend exceedeth all other books." 
But Edward Leigh, in much distress 
of mind, calls it "a book written by a 
man of a leaden heart for the basenesse 
of the errours, that are without wit or 
reason, and of a brazen forehead, for 
his impudent boldnesse in reporting 
things so fabulous and incredible." 

This work, the great text-book of the 
legendary lore of the Middle Ages, was 
translated into French in the fourteenth 
century by Jean de Vignay, and in the 



fifteenth into English by William Cax- 
ton. It has lately been made more ac- 
cessible by a new French translation : 
La Legende Doree, traduite du Lathi, 
par M. G. B. Paris, 1850. There is 
a copy of the original, with the Ge.it a 
Longobardo?-um appended, in the 
Harvard College Library, Cambridge, 
printed at Strasburg, 1496. The title- 
page is wanting ; and the volume begins 
with the Tabula Legendornm. 

I have called this poem the Golden 
Legend, because the story upon which 
it is founded seems to me to surpass 
all other legends in beauty and sig- 
nificance. It exhibits, amid the cor- 
ruptions of the Middle Ages, the virtue 
of disinterestedness and self-sacrifice, 
and the power of Faith, Hope, and 
Charity, sufficient for all the exigencies 
of life and death. The story is told, 
and perhaps invented, by Hart m an n 
von der Aue, a Minnesinger of the 
twelfth century. The original may be 
found in Mailath's Altdeutsche Ge- 
dichte, with a modern German version. 
There is another in Marbach's Volks- 
bilcher, No. 32. 

Page 145. 

For these bells ha7>e been anointed, 
A nd baptized with holy water ! 

The Consecration and Baptism of 
Bells is one of the most curious cere- 
monies of the Church in the Middle 
Ages. The Council of Cologne or- 
dained as follows: — 

" Let the bells be blessed, as the 
trumpets of the Church militant, by 
which the people are assembled to hear 
the word of God ; the clergy to an- 
nounce his mercy by day, and his truth 
in their nocturnal vigils : that by their 
sound the faithful may be invited to 
prayers, and that the spirit of devotion 
in them may be increased. The fathers 
have also maintained that demons 
affrighted by the sound of bells calling 
Christians to prayers, would flee away ; 
and when they fled, the persons of 
the faithful would be secure : that 
the destruction of lightnings and whirl- 
winds would be averted, and the spirits 
of the storm defeated." — Edinburgh 



NOTES. 



353 



Encyclopedia, Art. Bells. See also 
Scheible's Kloster, VI. 776. 

Page 156. It is the malediction of 
Eve I 

"Nee esses plus quam femina, quae 
nunc etiam viros transcendis, et quae 
maledictionem Evas in benedictionem 
vertisti Marias." — Epistola Abcelardi 
Heloissce. 

Page 165. To come back to my text I 

In giving this sermon of Friar Cuth- 
bert as a specimen of the Risus Pas- 
ckales, or street-preaching of the monks 
at Easter, I have exaggerated nothing. 
This very anecdote, offensive as it is, 
comes from a discourse of Father Bar- 
letta, a Dominican friar of the fifteenth 
century, whose fame as a popular 
preacher was so great, that it gave rise 
to the proverb, 

N esc it pre die are 
Qui nescit Barlettare. 

"Among the abuses introduced in 
this century," says Tiraboschi, "was 
that of exciting from the pulpit the 
laughter of the hearers ; as if that were 
the same thing as converting them. 
We have examples of this, not only in 
Italy, but also in France, where the 
sermons of Menot and Maillard, and 
of others, who would make a better ap- 
pearance on the stage than in the pul- 
pit, are still celebrated for such follies." 

If the reader is curious to see how 
far the freedom of speech was carried 
in these popular sermons, he is referred 
to Scheible's Kloster, Vol. I., where 
he will find extracts from Abraham a 
Sancta Clara, Sebastian Frank, and 
others ; and in particular an anonymous 
discourse called Der Grduel der Ver- 
wustung, The Abomination of Desola- 
tion, preached at Ottakring, a village 
west of Vienna, November 25, 1782, in 
which the license of language is carried 
to its utmost limit. 

See also Predicatoriana, ou Revila- 
tions singulieres et amusantes sur les 
PrSdicateurs ; par G. P. Philomneste. 
(Menin.) This work contains extracts 
from the popular sermons of St. Vin- 

23 



cent Ferrier, Barletta, Menot, Maillard, . 
Marini, Raulin, Valladier, De Besse, 
Camus, Pere Andre, JBening, and the 
most eloquent of all, Jacques Brydaine. 
My authority for the spiritual inter- 
pretation of bell-ringing, which follows, 
is Durandus, Ration. Divin. Offic, 
Lib. I. cap. 4. 

Page 166. The Nativity : a Mir- 
acle-Play. 

A singular chapter in the history of 
the Middle Ages is that which gives 
account of the early Christian Drama, 
the Mysteries, Moralities, and Miracle- 
Plays, which were at first performed in 
churches, and afterwards in the streets, 
on fixed or movable stages. For the 
most part, the Mysteries were founded 
on the historic portions of the Old 
and New Testaments, and the Miracle- 
Plays on the lives of Saints ; a distinc- 
tion not always observed, however, 
for in Mr. Wright's " Early Mysteries 
and other Latin Poems of the Twelfth 
and Thirteenth Centuries," the Resur- 
rection of Lazarus is called a Miracle, 
and not a Mystery. The Moralities 
were plays, in which the Virtues and 
Vices were personified. 

The earliest religious play, which has 
been preserved, is the Christos Pas- 
chon of Gregory Nazianzen, written in 
Greek, in the fourth century. Next to 
this come the remarkable Latin plays 
of Roswitha, the Nun of Gandersheim, 
in the ' tenth century, which, though 
crude and wanting in artistic construc- 
tion, are marked by a good deal of 
dramatic power and interest. A hand- 
some edition of these plays, with a 
French translation, has been lately pub- 
lished, entitled Theatre de Rotsvitha, 
* Religieuse allemande du X e Siecle. 
Par Charles Magnin. Paris, 1845. 

The most important collections of 
English Mysteries and Miracle-Plays 
are those known as the Townley, the 
Chester, and the Coventry Plays. The 
first of these collections has been pub- 
lished by the Surtees Society, and the 
other two by the Shakespeare Society. 
In his Introduction to the Coventry 
Mysteries, the editor, Mr. Halliwell, 



354 



NOTES. 



quotes the following passage from 
Dugdale's Antiquities of Warwick- 
shire : — 

" Before the suppression of the mon- 
asteries, this city was very famous for 
the pageants, that were played therein, 
upon Corpus-Christi day ; which, oc- 
casioning very great confluence of peo- 
ple thither, from far and near, was of 
no small benefit thereto ; which pa- 
geants being acted with mighty state 
and reverence by the friars of this 
house, had theaters for the severall 
scenes, very large and high, placed up- 
on wheels, and drawn to all the emi- 
nent parts of the city, for the better ad- 
vantage of spectators : and contain'd 
the story of the New Testament, com- 
posed into old English Rithme, as ap- 
peareth by an ancient MS. intituled 
Lucius Corporis Christi, ox Lucius Con- 
ventrice. I have been told by some 
old people, who in their younger years 
were eyewitnesses of these pageants so 
acted, that the yearly confluence of peo- 
ple to see that shew was extraordinary 
great, and yielded no small advantage 
to this city." 

The representation of religious plays 
has not yet been wholly discontinued 
by the Roman Church. At Ober-Am- 
mergau, in the Tyrol, a grand spectacle 
of this kind is exhibited once in ten 
years. A very graphic description of 
that which took place in the year 1850 
is given by Miss Anna Marv Howitt, 
in her "Art-Student in Munich," Vol. 
I. Chap. IV. She says : — 

" We had come expecting to feel our 
souls revolt at so material a representa- 
tion of Christ, as any representation of 
him we naturally imagined must be in 
a peasant's Miracle-Play. Yet so far, 
strange to confess, neither horror, dis-* 
gust, nor contempt was excited in our 
minds. Such an earnest solemnity 
and simplicity breathed throughout the 
whole of the performance, that to me, 
at least, anything like anger, or a per- 
ception of the ludicrous, would have 
seemed more irreverent on my part 
than was this simple, childlike render- 
ing of the sublime Christian tragedy. 
We felt at times as though the figures 



of Cimabue's, Giotto's, and Perugino's 
pictures had become animated, and 
were moving before us ; there was the 
same simple arrangement and brilliant 
color of drapery, — the same earnest, 
quiet dignity about the heads, whilst 
the entire absence of all theatrical ef- 
fect wonderfully increased the illusion. 
There were scenes and groups so ex- 
traordinarily like the early Italian pic- 
tures, that you could have declared they 
were the works of Giotto and Perugino, 
and not living men and women, had not 
the figures moved and spoken, and the 
breeze stirred their richly colored dra- 
pery, and the sun cast long, moving 
shadows behind them on the stage. 
These effects of sunshine and shadow, 
and of drapery fluttered by the wind, 
were very striking and beautiful ; one 
could, imagine how the Greeks must 
have availed themselves of such strik- 
ing effects in their theatres open to the 
sky." 

Mr. Bayard Taylor, in his " Eldora- 
do," gives a description of a Mystery 
he saw performed at San Lionel, in 
Mexico. See Vol. II. Chap. XI. 

"Against the wing-wall of the Haci- 
enda del Mayo, which occupied one 
end of the plaza, was raised a platform, 
on which stood a table covered with 
scarlet cloth. A rude bower of cane- 
leaves, on one end of the platform, rep- 
resented the manger of Bethlehem ; 
while a cord, stretched from its top 
across the plaza to a hole in the front 
of the church, bore a large tinsel star, 
suspended by a hole in its centre. 
There was quite a crowd in the plaza, 
and very soon a procession appeared, 
coming up from the .lower part of the 
village. The three kings took the lead ; 
the Virgin, mounted on an ass that 
gloried in a gilded saddle and rose-be- 
sprinkled mane and tail, followed them, 
led by the angel ; and several women, 
with curious masks of paper, brought 
up the rear. Two characters, of the 
harlequin sort — one with a dog's head 
on his shoulders, and the other a bald- 
headed friar, with a huge hat hanging 
on his back — played all sorts of antics 
for the diversion of the crowd. After 



NOTES. 



355 



making the circuit of the plaza, the Vir- 
gin was taken to the platform, and en- 
tered the manger. King Herod took 
his seat at the scarlet table, with an at- 
tendant in blue coat and red sash, whom 
I took to be his-JPrime Minister. The 
three kings remained on their horses 
in front of the church ; but between 
them and the platform, under the string 
on which the star was to slide, walked 
two men in long white robes and blue 
hoods, with parchment folios in their 
hands. These were the Wise Men of 
the East, as one might readily know 
from their solemn air, and the mysteri- 
ous glances which they cast towards all 
quarters of the heavens. 

" In a little while, a company of wo- 
men on the platform, concealed behind 
a curtain, sang an angelic chorus to the 
tune of ' O pescator dell'onda.' At the 
proper moment, the Magi turned to- 
wards the platform, followed by the 
star, to which a string was conveniently 
attached, that it might be slid along the 
line. The three kings followed the 
star till it reached the manger, when 
they dismounted, and inquired for the 
sovereign whom it had led them to 
visit. They were invited upon the 
platform, and introduced to Herod, as 
the only king; this did not seem to 
satisfy them, and, after some conversa- 
tion, they retired. By this time the 
star had receded to the other end of 
the line, and commenced moving for- 
ward again, they following. The angel 
called them into the manger, where, 
upon their knees, they were shown a 
small wooden box, supposed to contain 
the sacred infant ; they then retired, 
and the star brought them back no more. 
After this departure, King Herod de- 
clared himself greatly confused by what 
he had witnessed, and was very much 
afraid this newly found king would 
weaken his power. Upon consultation 
with his Prime Minister, the Massacre 
of the Innocents was decided upon, as 
the only means of security. 

' The angel, on hearing this, gave 
warning to the Virgin, who quickly got 
down from the platform, mounted her 
bespangled donkey, and hurried off. 



Herod's Prime Minister directed all 
the children to be handed up for exe- 
cution. A boy, in a ragged sarape, 
was caught and thrust forward ; the 
Minister took him by the heels in spite 
of his kicking, and held his head on 
the table. The little brother and sister 
of the boy, thinking he was really to 
be decapitated, yelled at the top of 
their voices, in an agony of terror, 
which threw the crowd into a roar of 
laughter. King Herod brought down 
his sword with a whack on the table, 
and the Prime Minister, dipping his 
brush into a pot of white paint which 
stood before him, made a flaring cross 
on the boy's face. Several other boys 
were caught and served likewise ; and, 
finally, the two harlequins, whose kicks 
and struggles nearly shook down the 
platform. The procession then went 
off up the hill, followed by the whole 
population of the village. All the 
evening there were fandangos in the 
meson, bonfires and rockets on the 
plaza, ringing of bells, and high mass 
in the church, with the accompaniment 
of two guitars, tinkling to lively pol- 
kas." 

In 1852 there was a representation 
of this kind by Germans in Boston : 
and I have now before me the copy of 
a play-bill announcing the perform- 
ance, on June 10, 1852, in Cincinnati, 
of the " Great Biblico-Historical Dra- 
ma, the Life of Jesus Christ," with 
the characters and the names of the 
performers. 

Page 174. The Scriptorium. 

A most interesting volume might be 
written on the Calligraphers and Chry- 
sographers, the transcribers and illumi- 
nators of manuscripts in the Middle 
Ages. These men were for the most 
part monks, who labored, sometimes 
for pleasure and sometimes for penance, 
in multiplying copies of the classics 
and the Scriptures. 

"Of all bodily labors, which are 
proper for us," says Cassiodorus, the 
old Calabrian monk, "that of copying 
books has always been more to my 
taste than any other. The more so, as 



356 



NOTES. 



in this exercise the mind is instructed 
by the reading of the Holy Scriptures, 
and it is a kind of homily to the others, 
whom these books may reach. It is 
preaching with the hand, by converting 
the fingers into tongues ; it is publish- 
ing to men in silence the words of sal- 
vation ; in fine, it is fighting against 
the demon with pen and ink. As many 
words as a transcriber writes, so many 
wounds the demon receives. In a 
word, a recluse, seated in his chair to 
copy books, travels into different prov- 
inces, without moving from the spot, 
and the labor of his hands is felt even 
where he is not." 

Nearly every monastery was provided 
with its Scriptorium. Nicolas de 
Clairvaux, St. Bernard's secretary, in 
one of his letters describes his cell, 
which he calls Scriptoriolum, where he 
copied books. And Mabillon, in his 
Etudes Motiastiques, says that in his 
time were still to be seen at Citeaux 
"many of those little cells, where the 
transcribers and bookbinders worked." 

Silvestre's Paleographie Universelle 
contains a vast number of fac-similes 
of the most beautiful illuminated man- 
uscripts of all ages and all coun- 
tries ; and Montfaucon in his Palce- 
ographia Gra>ca gives the names of 
over three hundred calligraphers. He 
also gives an account of the books they 
copied, and the colophons, with which, 
as with a satisfactory flourish of the 
pen, they closed their long-continued 
labors. Many of these are very curi- 
ous ; expressing joy, humility, remorse ; 
entreating the reader's prayers and par- 
don for the writer's sins ; and some- 
times pronouncing a malediction on 
any one who should steal the book. 
A few of these I subjoin : — 

"As pilgrims rejoice, beholding their 
native land, so are transcribers made 
glad, beholding the end of a book." 

" Sweet is it to write the end of any 
book." 

" Ye who read, pray for me, who 
have written this book, the humble and 
sinful Theodulus." 

" As many therefore as shall read 
this book, pardon me, I beseech you, 



if aught I have erred in accent acute 
and grave, in apostrophe, in breathing 
soft or aspirate ; and may God save you 
all ! Amen." 

" If anything is well, praise the tran- 
scriber: if ill, pardon hisunskilfulness." 

" Ye who read, pray for me, the most 
sinful of all men, for the Lord's sake." 

"The hand that has written this 
book shall decay, alas ! and become 
dust, and go down to the grave, the 
corrupter of all bodies. But all ye who 
are of the portion of Christ, pray that I 
may obtain the pardon of my sins. 
Again and again I beseech you with 
tears, brothers and fathers, accept my 
miserable supplication, O holy choir ! 
I am called John, woe is me ! I am 
called Hiereus, or Sacerdos, in name 
only, not in unction." 

"Whoever shall carry away this 
book, without permission of the Pope, 
may he incur the malediction of the 
Holy Trinity, of the Holy Mother of 
God, of Saint John the Baptist, of the 
one hundred and eighteen holy Nicene 
Fathers, and of all the Saints ; the fate 
of Sodom and Gomorrah ; and the hal- 
ter of Judas ! Anathema, amen." 

" Keep safe, O Trinity, Father, Son, 
and Holy Ghost, my three fingers, with 
which I have written this book." 

" Mathusalas Machir transcribed 
this divenest book in toil, infirmity, 
and dangers many." 

" Bacchius Barbardorius and Mi- 
chael Sophianus wrote this book in 
sport and laughter, being the guests of 
their noble and common friend Vin- 
centius Pinellus, and Petrus Nunnius, 
a most learned man." 

This last colophon, Montfaucon does 
not suffer to pass without reproof. 
" Other calligraphers," he remarks, 
"demand only the prayers of their 
readers, and the pardon of their sins ; 
but these glory in their wantonness." 

Page 178. Drink down to your peg I 

One of the canons of Archbishop 
Anselm, promulgated at the beginning 
of the twelfth century, ordains "that 
priests go not to drinking-bouts, nor 
drink to pegs." In the times of the 



NOTES. 



357 



hard-drinking Danes, King Edgar or- 
dained that " pins or nails should be 
fastened into the drinking-cups or 
horns at stated distances, and whoso- 
ever should drink beyond those marks 
at one draught should be obnoxious to 
a severe punishment." 

Sharpe, in his History of the Kings of 
England, says: "Our ancestors were 
formerly famous for compotation ; their 
liquor was ale, and one method of 
amusing themselves in this way was 
with the peg-tankard. I had lately 
one of them in my hand. It had on 
the inside a row of eight pins, one 
above another, from top to bottom. It 
held two quarts, and was a noble piece 
of plate, so that there was a gill of ale, 
half a pint Wincester measure, between 
each peg. The law was, that every 
person that drank was to empty the 
space between pin and pin, so that the 
pins were so many measures to make the 
company all drink alike, and to swal- 
low the same quantity of liquor. This 
was a pretty sure method of making all 
the company drunk, especially if it be 
considered that the rule was, that who- 
ever drank short of his pin, or beyond 
it, was obliged to drink again, and even 
as deep as to the next pin." 

Page 178. The convent of St. Gil- 
das de Rhuys. 

Abelard, in a letter to his friend 
Philintus, gives a sad picture of this 
monastery. " I live," he says, " in a 
barbarous country, the language of 
which I do not understand ; I have no 
conversation but with the rudest peo- 
ple, my walks are on the inaccessible 
shore of a sea, which is perpetually 
stormy, my monks are only known by 
their dissoluteness, and living without 
any rule or order, could you see the 
abby, Philintus, you would not call it 
one. the doors and walks are without 
any ornament, except the heads of wild 
boars and hinds feet, which are nailed 
up against them, and the hides of fright- 
ful animals, the cells are hung with 
the skins of deer, the monks have not 
so much as a bell to wake them, the 
cocks and dogs supply that defect, in 



short, they pass their whole days in 
hunting ; would to heaven that were 
their greatest fault ! or that their pleas- 
ures terminated there ! I endeavor in 
vain to recall them to their duty ; they 
all combine against me, and I only ex- 
pose myself to continual vexations and 
dangers. I imagine I see every mo- 
ment a naked sword hang over my 
head, sometimes they surround me, 
and load me with infinite abuses ; 
sometimes they abandon me, and I 
am left alone to my own tormenting 
thoughts. I make it my endeavor to 
merit by my sufferings, and to appease 
an angry God. sometimes I grieve for 
the loss of the house of the Paraclete, 
and wish to see it again, ah Philintus, 
does not the love of Heloise still burn 
in my heart ? I have not yet triumphed 
over that unhappy passion, in the 
midst of my retirement I sigh, I weep, 
I pine, I speak the dear name Heloise, 
and am pleased to hear the sound." — 
Letters of the Celebrated Abelard and 
Heloise. Translated by Mr. John 
Hughes. Glasgow, 1751. 

Page 186. Were it not for -my 
■magic garters and staff. 

The method of making the Magic 
Garters and the Magic Staff is thus 
laid down in Les Secrets Merveilletix 
du Petit A Ibert, a French translation 
of Alberti Parvi Lticii Libellus de 
Mirabilibus Natural A rcanis : — 

"Gather some of the herb called 
motherwort, when the sun is entering 
the first degree of the sign of Capri- 
corn ; let it dry a little in the shade, 
and make some garters of the skin of a 
young hare ; that is to say, having cut 
the skin of the hare into strips two 
inches wide, double them, sew the 
before-mentioned herb between, and 
wear them on your legs. No horse 
can long keep up with a man on foot, 
who is furnished with these garters." 
— p. 128. 

"Gather, on the morrow of All- 
Saints, a strong branch of willow, of 
which you will make a staff, fashioned 
to your liking. Hollow it out, by re- 
moving the pith from within, after hav- 



358 



NOTES. 



ing furnished the lower end with an 
iron ferule. Put into the bottom of 
the staff the two eyes of a young wolf, 
the tongue and heart~of a dog, three 
green lizards, and the hearts of three 
swallows. These must all be dried in 
the sun, between two papers, having 
been first sprinkled with finely pul- 
verized saltpetre. Besides all these, 
put into the staff seven leaves of ver- 
vain, gathered on the eve of St. John 
the Baptist, with a stone of divers 
colors, which you will find in the nest 
of the lapwing, and stop the end of the 
staff with a pomel of box, or of any 
other material you please, and be as- 
sured, that the staff will guarantee you 
from the perils and mishaps which too 
often befall travellers, either from rob- 
bers, wild beasts, mad dogs, or venom- 
ous animals. It will also procure you 
the good-will of those with whom you 
lodge." — p. 130. 

Page 189. Saint Elmo's stars. 

So the Italian sailors call the phos- 
phorescent gleams that sometimes play 
about the masts and rigging of ships. 

Page 1 89. The School of Salerno. 

For a history of the celebrated 
schools of Salerno and Monte-Cassino, 
the reader is referred to Sir Alexander 
Croke's Introduction to the Regimen 
Sanitatis Salemitamim ; and to Kurt 
SprengePs Geschichte der Arzneikitn- 
de, I. 463, or Jourdan's French trans- 
lation of it, Histoire de la Medicine, 
II- 354. 

Page 197. The Song of Hiawa- 
tha. 

This Indian Edda — if I may so call 
it — is founded on a tradition preva- 
lent among the North American In- 
dians, of a personage of miraculous 
birth, who was sent among them to 
clear their rivers, forests, and frshing- 
grounds, and to teach them the arts of 
peace. He was known among different 
tribes by the several names of Micha- 
bou, Chiabo, Manabozo, Tarenyawa- 
gon, and Hiawatha. Mr. Schoolcraft 
gives an account of him in his Algic 
Researches, Vol. I. p. 134 ; and in his 



History, Condition, and Prospects of 
the Indian Tribes of the United. States, 
Part III. p. 314, may be found the 
Iroquois form. of the tradition derived 
from the verbal narrations of an Onon- 
daga chief. 

Into this old tradition I have woven 
other curious Indian legends, drawn 
chiefly from the various and valuable 
writings of Mr. Schoolcraft, to whom 
the literary world is greatly indebted 
for his indefatigable zeal in rescuing 
from oblivion so much of the legendary 
lore of the Indians. 

The scene of the poem is among the 
Ojibways on the southern shore of 
Lake Superior, in the region between 
the Pictured Rocks and the Grand 
Sable. 



Page 197. 
sentha. 



In the Vale of Tawa- 



This valley, now called Norman's 
Kill, is in Albany County, New York. 



Page 198. 
Prairie. 



On the Mountains of the 



Mr. Catlin, in his Letters and Notes 
07i the Manners, Ct(sto?ns, and Condi- 
tion of the North A 7iierican Indians, 
Vol. II. p. 160, gives an interesting 
account of the Coteau des Prairies, 
and the Red Pipe -stone Quarry. He 
says : — 

" Here (according to their traditions) 
happened the mysterious birth of the 
red pipe, which has blown its fumes of 
peace and war to the remotest corners 
of the continent ; which has visited 
every warrior, and passed through its 
reddened stem the irrevocable oath of 
war and desolation. And here, also, 
the peace-breathing calumet was born, 
and fringed with the eagle's quills, 
which has shed its thrilling fumes over 
the land, and soothed the fury of the 
relentless savage. 

"The Great Spirit at an ancient 
period here called the Indian nations 
together, and, standing on the precipice 
of the red pipe-stone rock, broke from 
its wall a piece, and made a huge pipe 
by turning it in his hand, which he 
smoked over them, and to the North, 



NOTES. 



359 



the South, the East, and the West, 
and told them that this stone was red, — 
that it was their flesh, — that they 
must use it for their pipes of peace, — 
that it belonged to them all, and that 
the war-club and scalping-knife must 
not be raised on its ground. At the 
last whiff of his pipe his head went into 
a great cloud, and the whole surface of 
the rock for several miles was melted 
and glazed ; two great ovens were 
opened beneath, and two women (guar- 
dian spirits of the place) entered them 
in a blaze af fire ; and they are heard 
there yet (Tso-mec-cos-tee and Tso- 
me-cos-te-won-dee), answering to the 
invocations of the high-priests or med- 
icine-men, who "consult them when they 
are visitors to this sacred place." 

Page 200. Hark you, Bear I you 
are a coward. 

This anecdote is from Heckewelder. 
In his account of the Indian Nations, 
he describes an Indian hunter as ad- 
dressing a bear in nearly these words. 
" I was present," he says, "at the de- 
livery of this curious invective ; when 
the hunter had despatched the bear, I 
asked him how he thought that poor 
animal could understand what he said 
to it. ' O,' said he in answer, 'the 
bear understood me very well ; did you 
not observe how ashamed he looked 
while I was upbraiding him?'" — 
Transactions of the A merican Philo- 
sophical Society, Vol. I. p. 240. 

Page 203. Hush I the Naked Bear 
iv ill hear thee I 

Heckewelder, in a letter published in 
the Transactions of the American 
Philosophical Society, Vol. IV. p. 260, 
speaks of this tradition as prevalent 
among the Mohicans and Delawares. 

" Their reports," he says, " run thus : 
that among all animals that had been 
formerly in this country, this was the 
most ferocious ; that it was much larger 
than the largest of the common bears, 
and remarkably long-bodied ; all over 
(except a spot of hair on its back of a 
white color) naked. . . . . 

"The history of this animal used to 



be a subject of conversation among the 
Indians, especially when in the woods 
a hunting. I have also heard them say 
to their children when crying : ' Hush ! 
the naked bear will hear you, be upon 
you, and devour you.' " 

Page 207. Where the Falls of Min- 
nehaha, &c. 

" The scenery about Fort Snellingis 
rich in beauty. The Falls of St. An- 
thony are familiar to travellers, and to 
readers of Indian sketches. Between 
the fort and these falls are the ' Little 
Falls,' forty feet in height, on a stream 
that empties into the Mississippi. The 
Indians call them Mine-hah-hah, or 
' laughing waters.' " — Mrs. Eastman's 
Dacotah, or Legends of the Sioux, 
Introd., p. ii. 

Page 223. Sand Hills of the Na- 
gow JVudjoo. 

A description of the Grand Sable, or 
great sand dunes of Lake Superior, is 
given in Foster and Whitney's Report 
on the Geology of the Lake Superior 
Land District, Part II. p. 131. 

"The Grand Sable possesses a scenic 
interest little inferior to that of the Pic- 
tured Rocks. The explorer passes ab- 
ruptly from a coast of consolidated 
sand to one of loose materials ; and 
although in the one case the cliffs are 
less precipitous, yet in the other they 
attain a higher altitude. He sees be- 
fore him a long reach of coast, resem- 
bling a vast sand-bank, more than three 
hundred and fifty feet in height, with- 
out a trace of vegetation. Ascending 
to the top, rounded hillocks of blown 
sand are observed, with occasional 
clumps of trees, standing out like oases 
in the desert." 

Page 223. Onawayl Awake, be- 
loved ! 

The original of this song may be 
found in Littell's Living Age, Vol. 
XXV. p. 45 . 

Page 224. Or the Red Swan float- 
ing, flying. 

The fanciful tradition of the Red 



360 



NOTES. 



Swan may be found in Schoolcraft's 
Algic Researches, Vol. II. p. 9. Three 
brothers were hunting on a wager to 
see who would bring home the first 
game. 

" They were to shoot no other ani- 
mal," so the legend says, "but such as 
each was in the habit of killing. They 
set out different ways: Odjibwa, the 
youngest, had not gone far before he 
saw a bear, an animal he was not to 
kill, by the agreement. He followed 
him close, and drove an arrow through 
him, which brought him to the ground. 
Although contrary to the bet, he im- 
mediately commenced skinning him, 
when suddenly something red tinged 
all the air around him. He rubbed his 
eyes, thinking he was perhaps deceived ; 
but without effect, for the red hue con- 
tinued. At length he heard a strange 
noise at a distance. It first appeared 
like a human voice, but after following 
the sound for some distance, he reached 
the shores of a lake, and soon saw the 
object he was looking for. At a dis- 
tance out in the lake sat a most beautiful 
Red Swan, whose plumage glittered in 
the sun, and who would now and then 
make the same noise he had heard. 
He was within long bow-shot, and, 
pulling the arrow from the bow-string 
up to his ear, took deliberate aim and 
shot. The arrow took no effect ; and 
he shot and shot again till his quiver 
was empty. Still the swan remained, 
moving round and round, stretching its 
long neck and dipping its bill into the 
water, as if heedless of the arrows shot 
at it. Odjibwa ran home, and got all 
his own and his brother's arrows, and 
shot them all away. He then stood 
and gazed at the beautiful bird. While 
standing, he remembered his brother's 
saying that in their deceased father's 
medicine-sack were three magic arrows. 
Off he started, his anxiety to kill the 
swan overcoming all scruples. At any 
other time, he would have deemed it 
sacrilege to open his father's medicine- 
sack ; but now he hastily seized the 
three arrows and ran back, leaving the 
other contents of the sack scattered over 
the lodge. The swan was still there. 



He shot the first arrow with great pre- 
cision, and came very near to it. The 
second came still closer ; as he took the 
last arrow, he felt his arm firmer, and, 
drawing it up with vigor, saw it pass 
through the neck of the swan a little 
above the breast. Still it did not pre- 
vent the bird from flying off, which 
it did, however, at first slowly, flap- 
ping its wings and rising gradually 
into the air, and then, flying off to- 
ward the sinking of the sun." — pp. 
10 - 12. 

Page 227. When I think of 7ny 
beloved. 

The original of this song may be 
found in Oneota, p. 15. 

Page 228. Sing the mysteries of 
J\Iondajui?t. 

The Indians hold the maize, or In- 
dian corn, in great veneration. " They 
esteem it so important and divine a 
grain," says Schoolcraft, " that their 
story-tellers invented various tales, in 
which this idea is symbolized under the 
form of a special gift from the Great 
Spirit. The Odjibwa- Algonquins, who 
call it Mon-da-min, that is, the Spirit's 
grain or berry, have a pretty story of 
this kind, in which the stalk in full tas- 
sel is represented as descending from 
the sky, under the guise of a handsome 
youth, in answer to the prayers of a 
young man at his fast of virility, or 
coming to manhood. 

"It is well known that corn-planting, 
and corn-gathering, at least among all 
the still uncolonized tribes, are left en- 
tirely to the females and children, and 
a few superannuated old men. It is 
not generally known, perhaps, that this 
labor is not compulsory, and that it is 
assumed by the females as a just equiv- 
alent, in their view, for the onerous 
and continuous labor of the other sex, 
in providing meats, and skins for cloth- 
ing, by the chase, and in defending 
their villages against their enemies, 
and keeping intruders off their terri- 
tories. A good Indian housewife dej 
this a part of her prerogative, and prides 
herself to have a store of corn to exer- 



NOTES. 



361 



cise her hospitality, or duly honor her 
husband's hospitality, in the entertain- 
ment of the lodge guests." — Oneota, 
p. 82. 

Page 228. Thus the fields shall be 
more fruitful. 

" A singular proof of this belief, in 
both sexes, of the mysterious influence 
of the steps of a woman on the vege- 
table and insect creation, is found in 
an ancient custom which was related to 
me, respecting corn-planting. It was 
the practice of the hunter's wife, when 
the field of corn had been planted, to 
choose the first dark or over-clouded 
evening to perform a secret circuit, sans 
habillement, around the field. For this 
purpose she slipped out of the lodge in 
the evening, unobserved, to some ob- 
scure nook, where she completely dis- 
robed. Then, taking her matchecota, 
or principal garment, in one hand, she 
dragged it around the field. This was 
thought to insure a prolific crop, and 
to prevent the assaults of insects and 
worms upon the grain. It was sup- 
posed they could not creep over the 
charmed line." — Oneota, p. 83. 

Page 229. With his prisoner-string 
he bound him. 

"These cords," says Mr. Tanner, 
"are made of the bark of the elm-tree, 
by boiling and then immersing it in 

cold water The leader of a war 

party commonly carries several fas- 
tened about his waist, and if, in the 
course of the fight, any one of his young 
men takes a prisoner, it is his duty to 
bring him immediately to the chief, to 
be tied, and the latter is responsible 
for his safe-keeping." — Narrative of 
Captivity and Adventures, p. 412. 

Page 230. 

Wagemin, the thief of cornfields, 
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear. 

" If one of the young female huskers 
finds a red ear of corn, it is typical of a 
brave admirer, and is regarded as a fit- 
ting present to some young warrior. 
But if the ear be crooked, and tapering 
to a point, no matter what color, the 



whole circle is set in a roar, and wa-ge- 
min is the word shouted aloud. It is 
the symbol of a thief in the cornfield. 
It is considered as the image of an old 
man stooping as he enters the lot. 
Had the chisel of Praxiteles been em- 
ployed to produce this image, it could 
not more vividly bring to the minds of 
the merry group the idea of a pilferer 
of their favorite mondamin 

"The literal meaning of the term is, 
a mass, or crooked ear of grain ; but 
the ear of corn so called is a conven- 
tional type of a little old man pilfering 
ears of corn in a cornfield. It is in 
this manner that a single word or term, 
in these curious languages, becomes the 
fruitful parent of many ideas. And we 
can thus perceive why it is that the 
word wagemin is alone competent to 
excite merriment in the husking circle. 

"This term is taken as the basis of 
the cereal chorus, or corn song, as sung 
by the Northern Algonquin tribes. It 
is coupled with the phrase Paimosaid, 
— a permutative form of the Indian 
substantive, made from the verb pim- 
o-sa, to walk. Its literal meaning is, 
he who walks, or the walker ; but the 
ideas conveyed by it are, he who walks 
by night to pilfer corn. It offers, there- 
fore, a kind of parallelism in expres- 
sion to the preceding term." — Oneota, 
p. 254. 

Page 235. Pugasaing, with thir- 
teen pieces. 

This Game of the Bowl is the princi- 
pal game of hazard among the North- 
ern tribes of Indians. Mr. School- 
craft gives a particular account of it in 
Oneota, p. 85. "This game," he says, 
"is very fascinating to some portions 
of the Indians. They stake at it their 
ornaments, weapons, clothing, canoes, 
horses, everything in fact they possess ; 
and have been known, it is said, to set 
up their wives and children, and even 
to forfeit their own liberty. Of such 
desperate stakes I have seen no exam- 
ples, nor do I think the game itself in 
common use. It is rather confined to 
certain persons, who hold the relative 
rank of gamblers in Indian society, — 



362 



NOTES. 



men who are not noted as hunters or 
warriors, or steady providers for their 
families. Among these are persons 
who bear the term of Ienadizze-wug, 
that is, wanderers about the country, 
braggadocios, or fops. It can hardly 
be classed with the popular games of 
amusement, by which skill and dex- 
terity are acquired. I have generally 
found the chiefs and graver men of the 
tribes, who encouraged the young men 
to play ball, and are sure to be present 
at the customary sports, to witness, and 
sanction, and applaud them, speak 
lightly and disparagingly of this game 
of hazard. Yet it cannot be denied 
that some of the chiefs, distinguished 
in war and the chase, at the West, can 
be referred to as lending their example 
to its fascinating power." 

See also his History, Co?iditio7i, and 
Prospects 0/ the Indian Tribes, Part 
II. p. 72. 

Page 239. To tJie Pictured Rocks 
of sandstone. 

The reader will find a long descrip- 
tion of the Pictured Rocks in Foster 
and Whitney's Report on tJie Geology 
0/ the Lake Superior Land District, 
Part II. p. 124. From this I make the 
following extract : — 

"The Pictured Rocks may be de- 
scribed in general terms, as a series of 
sandstone bluffs extending along the 
shore of Lake Superior Uvc about five 
miles, and rising, in most places, verti- 
cally from the water, without any beach 
at the base, to a height varying from 
fifty to nearly two hundred feet. Were 
they simply a line of cliffs, they might 
not, so far as relates to height or ex- 
tent, be worthy of a rank among great 
natural curiosities, although such an 
assemblage of rocky strata, washed by 
the waves of the great lake, would not, 
under any circumstances, be destitute 
of grandeur. To the voyager, coast- 
ing along their base in his frail canoe, 
they would, at all times, be an object 
of dread ; the recoil of the surf, the 
rock-bound coast, affording, for miles, 
no place of refuge, — the lowering sky, 
the rising wind, — all these would ex- 



cite his apprehension, and induce him 
to ply a vigorous oar until the dreaded 
wall was passed. But in the Pictured 
Rocks there are two features which 
communicate to the scenery a wonder- 
ful and almost unique character. These 
are, first, the curious manner in which 
the cliffs have been excavated, and 
worn away by the action of the lake, 
which, for centuries, has dashed an 
ocean-like surf against their base ; and 
second, the equally curious manner in 
which large portions of the surface have 
been colored by bands of brilliant hues. 

" It is from the latter circumstance 
that the name, by which these cliffs are 
known to the American traveller, is 
derived ; while that applied to them by 
the French voyageurs (' Les Portails ') 
is derived from the former, and by far 
the most striking peculiarity. 

" The term Pictu red Rocks has been 
in use for a great length of time ; but 
when it was first applied, we have been 
unable to discover. It would seem 
that the first travellers were more im- 
pressed with the novel and striking dis- 
tribution of colors on the surface, than 
with the astonishing variety of form 
into which the cliffs themselves have 
been worn 

" < )ur voyageurs had many legends 
to relate of the pranks of the Momi- 
bojou in these caverns, and, in answer 
to our inquiries, seemed disposed to 
fabricate stories, without end, of the 
achievements of this Indian deity." 

Page 248. Toward tJte sun his 
hands were lifted. 

In this manner, and with such salu- 
tations, was Father Marquette received 
by the Illinois. See his Voyages et 
Dccouvcrtes, Section V.. in Shea's 
Jl/'scovery and Exploration of the 
Mississippi Valley, pages 22 and 242. 

Page 273. 

That of our vices we can frame 
A ladder. 

I he words of St. Augustine are, — 
" De vitiisnostrisscalam nobis facimus, 
si vitia ipsa calcamus." 

Sermon III. De Ascensione. 



NOTES. 



363 



Page 273. The Phantom Ship. 

A detailed account of this " appari- 
tion of a Ship in the Air" is given by 
Cotton Mather in his Magnalia Christi, 
Book I. Ch. VI. It is contained in a 
letter from the Rev. James Pierpont, 
Pastor of New Haven. To this ac- 
count Mather adds these words : — 

" Reader, there being yet living so 
many credible gentlemen, that were 
eyewitnesses of this wonderful thing, I 
venture to publish it for a thing as un- 
doubted as 't is wonderful." 



Page 276. 
Macho. 



A nd the Emperor but a 



Macho, in Spanish, signifies a mule. 
Golondrina is the feminine form of 
Golondrino, a swallow, and also a cant 
name for a deserter. 

Page 278. Oliver Basselin. 

Oliver Basselin, the " Pere joyeux 
du Vaudeville" flourished in the fif- 
teenth century, and gave to his con- 
vivial songs the name of his native val- 
leys, in which he sang them, Vaux-de- 
Vire. This name was afterwards cor- 
rupted into the modern Vaudeville. 



Page 279. Victor Galbraith. 

This poem is founded on fact. Vic- 
tor Galbraith was a bugler in a com- 
pany of volunteer cavalry ; and was 
shot in Mexico for some breach of dis- 
cipline. It is a common superstition 
among soldiers, that no balls will kill 
them unless their names are written on 
them. The old proverb says, " Every 
bullet has its billet." 

Page 280. I remember the sea-fight 
far away. 

This was the engagement between 
the Enterprise and Boxer, off the har- 
bor of Portland, in which both captains 
were slain. They were buried side by 
side, in the cemetery on Mountjoy. 

Page 283. Santa Filomena. 

" At Pisa the church of San Fran- 
cisco contains a chapel dedicated lately 
to Santa Filomena ; over the altar is a 
picture, by Sabatelli, representing the 
Saint as a beautiful, nymph-like figure, 
floating down from heaven, attended by 
two angels bearing the lily, palm, and 
javelin, and beneath, in the foreground, 
the sick and maimed, who are healed 
by her intercession." — Mrs. Jameson, 
Sacred and Legendary Art) II. 298. 



THE END. 



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